The Hogwarts Six and The Darkest Wizard
by Belial666
Summary: Fourth year has come, bringing Tournaments, Prophesies, Dark Lords, powerful magic, Death Eaters, politics, and rearranged geographical features. Follow Harry, Ron, Neville, Tracey, Daphne, and a Slytherin!Anti!Hermione as they deal with all of the above as well as the greatest danger of all; themselves. For what is more dangerous than capable, daring, teenage witches and wizards?
1. Setting the Stage

**And here we are at the beginning of another epic, novel-length story. "The Hogwarts Six and the Darkest Wizard" is the sequel to "The Brightest Witch and the Darkest House"; noting it here since there wasn't enough space in the title. It could be read as a standalone though, since the first few chapters will recap the major events in our heroes' first three years of Hogwarts - except for the secret ones, that is.**

 **This starts at the end of Harry's third year and will go through 4th, 5th, and 6th year. The only AU point is Hermione being replaced by a darker, more ambitious muggleborn OC in the previous book, resulting in Harry making some friends in Slytherin, and changes snowballing from there. The first chapter introduces the current situation, while the second chapter will introduce our heroes. It will be an epic story, with epic action, epic magic, and epic plots. Romance too, though no epic sex since it isn't allowed.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Dislcaimer: did the Death Eaters act in the muggle world during the first war without blowing the Statute of Secrecy despite the average wizard's total inability to blend in? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter: it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is totally free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

"...the Minister's wounds appeared to be creature-induced according to the memories Headmaster Dumbledore shared with us, and we did, in fact, find signs of mostly healed organ failure due to Manticore poisoning." At that, Hippocrates Smethwyck looked up from his notes at the wizard in question and inclined his head respectfully while ignoring his nominal superior's annoyance. The fairly young Healer had always had talent in dealing with creature-induced injuries and if all went well, he'd soon rise to a higher position when some... older staff were rotated off St. Mungo's. Nobody could handle dealing with magical emergencies forever, but Smethwyck was young enough to still want to do it and capable enough to pull it off, if he said so himself. And if he could make his name in this case with the Minister with the Head of the DMLE and the Chief Warlock present... "It hadn't been injected via a Manticore's sting though as the injury didn't match such an attack, and as Mr. Fudge didn't die outright I can only assume the venom had been diluted or otherwise reduced in potency."

"Yes, yes, we know how Manticore stings work, Hippocrates." Healer-in-charge Andromeda Tonks said impatiently. Tall, dark-haired, no-nonsense, with great skill when it came to countering Dark magic, and the bane of all young Healers' existence. "If you want to be in charge of your own hospital ward come next year, you'd better exchange verbiage for efficiency." Hippocrates Smethwyck gulped at that, while Albus Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, Amelia's own were rolled upwards in exasperation, and Cornelius Fudge remained on his hospital bed, unconscious and unresponsive.

"Yes, well, the Minister's injury matched the bite marks of some nonmagical species of rodents, none of which are poisonous to begin with. In my opinion, the poisoning was foul play, the bite only a red herring." Amelia Bones snorted loudly at that, tossing her prematurely greying red mane in a practiced move calculated to display the maximum amount of annoyance. Of course there was foul play involved; the Minister of Magic had been poisoned with Death Eaters at the scene, both pardoned and otherwise. Being in her position was hardly easy to begin with and the way things were going, she'd lose what color in her hair she'd left before the night was out. Throwing a glance at her old classmate, she snorted again. If twelve years in Azkaban had not managed to turn Sirius Black's hair grey, she doubted Andromeda call-me-Tonks Black would need dyes before she was ninety. "Which brings us to the real danger to the Minister's health, which is not a poison at all." Smethwyck finished, drawing everyone's attention once more.

"What first caught our examiners' eye was the Minister's unconsciousness. Despite everything, he had not been injured enough to remain in that state - not after Headmaster Dumbledore's familiar had provided him with Phoenix tears. All diagnostic charms pointed to a bad reaction to the shock of the attack. They still do." The Healer shook his head, shifted through his notes and continued. "That was when the Minister caught on several magical diseases from patients in a neighboring ward. In fact, he caught on all of them; the chances of that happening are astronomically tiny with all the precautions we usually take. Cures were administered in a timely manner... to one of which Mr. Fudge developed a very rare allergic reaction. We shifted him to another ward for treatment... and one of the nurses slipped and fell on him, resulting into multiple fractures despite the mild impact."

"Which was when I had him checked out for curses." Healer Tonks interrupted again. "The one we found on him was powerful, vindictive, and very Dark."

"You're confirming that the Minister has been intentionally cursed?" The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement asked, taking notes of her own now. It was one of the reasons she'd come to St. Mungo's after all. The other was yet to be decided, but she had her suspicions. "How bad is it, is the Minister's life in danger, and how soon will he recover?"

"You misunderstand, Director Bones." The regal, dark-haired, dark-robed Healer-in-charge said in her cultured, always-calm, always-superior voice. "The kind of curse we found on Mister Fudge comes from major Dark Magic, where a death is involved. It won't kill him, but it will make him wish he were dead. Conventional Healing magic can't cure it either." With a deft flick of her wand, she cast a complex diagnostic charm and scowled once more. "There is no concrete, documented evidence, but I have seen this curse once before myself. Before becoming a Healer, that is." The dark-haired witch's expression had become positively murderous now, intimidating Healer Smethwyck into taking several steps back. Dumbledore didn't seem to be affected though, and Amelia was made of sterner stuff. Not only did she receive death threats from the families of Dark witches and wizards she'd comvicted on a regular basis, but she'd faced that exact scowl from her old classmate back in '71 when Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black had come to Hogwarts to visit her sister and... convince her not to marry muggleborn Ted Tonks. The future Death Eater had left the castle empty-handed. Also, thouroughly cursed.

"So it would not hold up in court then." Amelia mused. A pity. Better evidence would have given her a reason to search the primary suspect's property thoroughly, and even if Lucius Malfoy turned out to be innocent of the attack on the Minister, he would certainly be guilty of other things. Amelia hated all those who'd been allowed to go free after claiming the Imperius, but her own morals and adherence to the Law prevented her from hunting them down. On the other hand, the Ministry needed a fair, incorruptible Department Head more than it needed another witch hunt. "Out of curiosity, what was Mr. Fudge cursed with?"

"He wasn't." Andromeda Tonks said. "He imbibed, or was force-fed, blood from a slain unicorn." Even Dumbledore's usual amusement vanished at that announcement, and for good reason. Magically-speaking slaying a unicorn was as dark and foul as human sacrifice, except the unicorn's own magic retaliated by cursing its blood; the only part of the unicorn one needed to harm it to retrieve, and the most magically potent. No wonder the Minister couldn't be healed.

"I see." Amelia said in the end. Yet another heinous act she had to let go unpunished due to lack of evidence, but at least the rest of the medical report had been detailed enough. "Thank you for the information, Healer Smethwyck, Healer Tonks. Now excuse me; I need to deliver it personally to the Ministry given the delicate nature of the case." She stalked out of the Spell Damage ward, wordlessly greeted the two Aurors standing guard at the entrance, and mentally prepared herself for memory-sharing. In a high-profile case such as this, simple parchmentwork would not do. At least all persons involved were magical and of-age this time.

"One moment Amelia." Dumbledore said from right behind her, somehow catching up to her in his stately walk. She resisted the impulse to pick up speed just to annoy him - it probably wouldn't work - and waited to see if her suspicions would be proven correct. "There is a manner of some importance to discuss before your return to the Ministry tonight."

"Indeed? Does it pertain to the workings of the Wizengamot, Chief Warlock? Is there some magical catastrophe or major arcane development the Ministry should be made aware of, Grand Sorcerer? Or has Hogwarts become the scene of yet another major crime, Headmaster? Because it can't be about the ICW; you're the British representative so they'd have contacted you directly." She finished rather waspishly. Normally, she wouldn't be so short with Albus Dumbledore. The man was an impressively powerful wizard and had done much for wizarding Britain... except this time he was about to ask of her something she'd wanted to avoid ever since she understood how the Ministry really worked.

"It's about the function of the Ministry itself." He confirmed in all seriousness. "Amelia, Cornelius can hardly continue in his position as he is. You know Lucius Malfoy and his supporters will be rallying to place their own candidate in office. Losing the Ministry's support will be almost as big a blow to their side as it will be to ours. Cornelius had always been easily influenced, certainly, but he supported fully nobody but himself. We cannot afford a Minister that will be actively in league with former Death Eaters."

"And what do you suggest then? What is your great plan to prevent this?" As if she didn't know. Dumbledore didn't make assumptions that you were at his side. He let you assume that he assumed even as he used familiarity, influence, and your own beliefs to steer you exactly where you were "supposed" to be. Even though his plans did benefit wizarding Britain and did oppose the Dark, Amelia hated being manipulated. Especially when the manipulator was right.

"Take the Minister's position yourself." He raised a hand to delay her own streak of heated arguments. "One moment please, hear me out. I'll rally Tiberius Ogden, Marchbanks, Crouch, Diggory, Weasley, all our supporters in the Ministry, the muggleborns, and those who don't want to see a Dark, Pureblood regime. It'll be tough, but we'll get the neutral Houses to support us in the end. You get the position, hold the Ministry together for a couple of years until we can solidify our alliances, and then we can put another candidate forward and you can return to expertly running the DMLE as you have so far."

"An interesting plan." She grudgingly agreed. On the surface, it gave everyone but the Dark Pureblood Houses what they wanted... but politics were never about the surface. On the other hand, she didn't have a better plan either. "Out of curiosity, why don't you run for the Minister's position yourself?"

"I am content at Hogwarts." Bullshit. And thinly-veiled bullshit at that, given his multiple positions beyond it. "Besides, far too many people would not stand for it; we'd have a civil war on our hands again." Closer to the truth, but Amelia was no longer a student in awe of her famous Headmaster, or a rookie Auror training under one of Dumbledore's best friends. She could now see an evasion when it was staring her in the eye, twinkle or no.

"Very well, Dumbledore." She said in the end. "Two years. And don't expect me to be a figurehead covering for secret, unsanctioned, anti-dark societies. Not unless we get another Dark Lord anyway."

 **xxxx**

"Hey Amy, long time no see." The black-haired, silver-eyed, no longer emaciated man said from his hospital bed. "I knew you couldn't come to St. Mungo's without dropping in to see an old flame."

"Save it, Black." She replied. "You still are six years younger and not nearly as good-looking as you think you are." Wasn't that the truth? A first-year Sirius Black had flirted with the Seventh-year girls back in the day... at least until his cousin had hexed him. Andromeda Black had been the only Slytherin owed a favor by every single Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girl in her year. "Besides, what's that I hear about a girlfriend?"

"Shhh!" He glared at her for a moment, then looked around the room to confirm nobody else had heard. When no member of the Jones family turned up to hex him, all of them clustered around the occupied bed at the far end of the room and too busy talking to the recovering youngest member of their family, Sirius Black exhaled in relief. "Do you want to get me permanently banned from all the Holyhead Harpies' games? Gwenog Jones can be really mean when she wants to be."

"Well, you did kidnap her baby sister." Amelia smirked. Here was one miscreant that wouldn't be repeating his criminal misadventures any time soon.

"Baby sister? They're twins!" Of course, that made it even worse. "And I didn't kidnap Hestia; I stumbled into her while trying to capture Pettigrew and avoid getting Kissed by the Ministry's ugliest girl scouts for a crime I did not commit and was not even tried and convicted for!"

"I'm sorry, Sirius." She said, her good mood at getting some concessions out of Dumbledore evaporating at the enormous injustice done to one of the few wizards she'd ever genuinely liked. "I was only a senior Auror at the time; I didn't have the political clout to do anything against Crouch." Which showed just how messed up politics were when that same man would be supporting her bid for office in less than a week.

"If you're so sorry then give me a kiss." He asked boldly, eyebrows twitching suggestively. "Maybe Gwenog will see and stop hounding me about pursuing her sister."

"Will you stop joking for one minute?" She hissed back. "We only have ten minutes before Dumbledore has cooked up enough interference in the Ministry for me to arrive mostly unnoticed, and there is something important I have to tell you."

"Important huh?" He thought about it for a moment, eyebrows lowered comically into a narrow 'V'. "You aren't seeing somebody else, are you?" Amelia slapped him. Hard. One of the Jones women looked up, saw Sirius holding a hand to his reddening cheek, and gave her a thumbs-up.

"Shut up and listen." She whispered. "I usually don't share information about open cases but this one stinks to high heaven and it's about Remus Lupin." Black's jaw fell open almost to his chest. Certain he had his attention, she went on. "Before he was cursed, Fudge was about to put a Kiss-on-sight order out for your old friend for mauling those escaped Death Eaters in his werewolf form... or so Lucius Malfoy and his allies claim. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures was quick to back them up, which should come as no surprise since one of their most senior Executioners is Walden Macnair." Sirius growled. She ignored him. "Somehow they got Amos Diggory to agree, probably because Harry Potter and his friends had been at the scene and in danger of being attacked as well."

"Remus would never...!"

"Don't interrupt." She shut him down before his growing anger could cause a scene. "All of that became moot when the detection spells at the Department of Magical Transportation showed Mister Lupin Disapparating from Scotland in the early hours of the morning in a northwestern direction. As no destination was revealed, his arrival point had to be beyond the area monitored by the British Ministry."

"But there is nothing within normal Apparition distance in that direction!" Sirius said, almost panicked. "Do you think he..."

"I do not believe Remus Lupin commited suicide." She calmed the younger, brash wizard down. "If he had, the bloodline monitoring spells of the Lupin family would have notified us." She gave him a small smile. "No, I believe your old partner in crime was somehow warned of the manhunt and made his escape."

"Thank Morgana's soggy knickers!" Of couse Sirius Black would swear on something like that.

"On to less pleasant matters." This time, she cast several privacy spells around the two of them, the matter being far more delicate. "Do you remember any additional details about your escape from Azkaban?"

"Other than those I gave to the Aurors that interrogated me, you mean?" He grimaced as if he'd bitten something sour; remembering his years of unjust imprisonment could not have been easy. "No." He finally said, shaking his head. "I did not immediately notice that a wand had been left inside my cell so I can't tell you how it was sent or by whom. Though I can speculate."

"Really now?" Her raised eyebrow was not nearly as effective without her monocle. Sirius Black however was not amused.

"Dementors are bloody blind, Amy. As good as their ability to sense emotions is, they can't notice small objects at a distance and wands are just that." He snorted. "I'll bet half the reparations for unlawful imprisonment the Ministry isn't going to pay me that some dark pureblood bastard finally noticed that little fact, took out a few old family wands from his vault, and sent them to everyone of Voldemort's inner circle in Azkaban via short-distance, self-delivering letters. The Ministry had started using those for memos instead of owls back in '81. Give it over a decade for the 'old guard' to get used to the idea and it fits. Bet they turned them invisible too, so the half-dozen trouble-makers you exile to the island from your Department to serve as the 'human element' of the prison didn't see a thing. Of course, they'd have been too busy drinking to notice even if they had been visible; only way to stand working in the place without quitting."

It made sense, Amelia thought. With the huge uproar in Pureblood circles after that "Dark Wanker" pamphlet someone distributed in June of '93 made some serious claims of You-Know-Who being a half-blood that wanted to destroy the noble Houses by inciting civil war, sides were being chosen and important people were moving in the shadows. She had now several appointments to make, and a prison's security to improve... if the various opposing sides in the Ministry let her. With any luck, they'd avoid another breakout as serious as the one led by Bellatrix Lestrange...

 **xxxx**

Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-two. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-three. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-four. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-five. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-six... ah, another pause.

Counting the searing, soul-scorching blows against him was the only respite the prisoner had left. If he stopped, he'd have to listen to the words. And if he did that, his captors would have won. Not that they hadn't, given the prisoner's current state, but he wanted to prevent their total victory. Resisting the indoctrination minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, keeping his mind as his, was his only desire that still survived. His prison, the place of his horrendous torment, sustained him as it contained him. He was not free to move, speak, sleep, eat, drink, or even think complex thoughts, except in the very brief respites when his jailors changed a worn and spent torture implement for a new one. He was also not free to kill himself or go mad, every second of his long-lasting torment shoving only the thoughts they desired into his mind. Who 'they' were he no longer knew, and had no time enough to properly remember. He only had time to lament the fact that there could be only two outcomes for his personal hell; they would either reform him in their image, or his punishment would con...

No! He could already feel the pointed, searing, scalpel-like instrument of torture descending. No! No! No! No! No!

Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-seven. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-eight. Thirty-one million, five hundred and thirty-six thousand, and eighty-nine...

 **xxxx**

"That old goat-fucker!" Macnair swore crudely, to no-one's surprise. "He did something, I know it! I had everyone in the Department lined up, Diggory's own signature in the execution order, and somehow the werewolf slipped through our fingers! Damnit! Never before I've lost my quarry! I'll gut him like a fish! Like one of his smelly brother's goats!"

"Calm down, Walden." Lucius admonished, trying to stop the other man's tirade before his wife poisoned him for upsetting the peace and quiet of the Manor. "We all have our issues with Dumbledore; one werewolf more or less is small change." Dumbledore subtly throwing suspicion on Lucius for the attack on the Minister was far more important now. "If you're so annoyed by this one escape, why don't you call in your old friend Greyback? Lupin's one of the people he'd hunt down for free, is he not?"

"Yeah, you're right." The burlier, darker man said with a sharp nod. "We'll see how the wolf likes being hunted. Attacking our mates, will he? Well, Greyback will take him out and his mates, see if he won't."

"How are the Lestrange brothers?" Lucius asked the table at large. Juvenile though Macnair may be, he still brought up the occasional good point. That and his thirst for the kill had seen him in the Dark Lord's inner circle and was why Lucius still kept him around.

"They both survived." Yaxley replied, pulling a loose strand of blond hair back into the ponytail he favored. Lucius had no idea why; an open face made him no favors, what with his blunt features and nasty smirk. Maybe it was an affectation from his days as an Auror, carried over to his new job as a low-rank Hit Wizard. "Since nobody is certain whether they are werewolves now or not they haven't been sent back to Azkaban, which is a plus. The bitch has them in high-security cells in the Ministry till the next full Moon, however." The 'bitch' is how Yaxley always referred to Amelia Bones, his boss. After his severe demotion under her tenure in the DMLE Yaxley hated the woman, which Lucius found odd. They had narrowly escaped being sent to Azkaban after the Dark Lord's fall, after all. Perhaps he considered it a personal betrayal from one he'd once seen as a fair and accomodating boss? No matter; that he did hate her was the only important fact at the moment, since they were organizing opposition against her.

"I do not believe we could smuggle or break them out successfully, Lucius." Nott said in his oily, alarmingly friendly manner. The small, darkly dressed and usually quiet man nibbled on one of the butter cookies Narcissa had provided, throwing crumbs everywhere. Probably deliberately, Lucius thought. Nott was a snake, not a rat, but he always envied Lucius' bigger, shinier, cleaner manor. Narcissa disliked him immensely for that very reason, and always did her best to have the house perfect whenever he came calling. His responses seemed juvenile but were always deliberate and concealed something much darker than envy behind that silly facade. "We'll have to find other sources to help us track down our escaped fellows. Lord Selwyn perhaps?"

"Lord Selwyn had always been the consummate politician, never coming out in the open. He even had neutral leanings, despite his grandson's actions." Lucius argued reasonably. "Why would he help us now?"

"Because his grandson is dead." Nott said with that odd smile that always reminded Lucius of the less scrupulous but smarter assassins.

"Really?" Yaxley interjected, putting his quiet discussion with Macnair aside temporarily. "I had not heard anything."

"Oh, it was kept quiet. Very very quiet." The small man licked his lips - another one of his nervous tics. "Torn apart by Inferi, poor sod. Maybe by Bellatrix's own hand, though there is no evidence. Given the situation, the DMLE would not want to upset the populace any further, even if the victim were a convicted Death Eater."

"So Lord Selwyn could be a potential ally, if we handled him right. But also a potential enemy, if Bellatrix was proven to be responsible and he cared enough to do something about it." Lucius thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No way to tell. Better to deal with more immediate matters until we have more information or resources. Our other main subject is Fudge's successor."

"Oh not again!" Macnair groaned, while Yaxley scowled and Nott remained silent. "We've been talking about that every day since Fudge bit the dust, or close enough as makes no difference."

"That's because an at least neutral Minister is a crucial requirement for our maintaining our hold on the Ministry." Lucius said a tad bit angrily, walking stick rapping sharply against the table's crystal surface. Macnair had not a single subtle bone in his body and was growing rather bored of all their talks. Maybe if the new Minister prevented him from killing as he so loved to do, he'd care more... but by then it'd be too late. "If we don't present our own candidate, Dumbledore will ram someone on his side down our throats and will slowly start reforming the Departments. Everything we've done to undermine the Ministry's cohesion and authority over the past twenty years will go down the drain and the relative independence we've maintained for all Noble Houses will begin to diminish. The old fool wants to do away with everything 'old and parochial' to use his own words, and he will use Amelia Bones to do it!"

"Let him." A new, cultured, high-pitched voice said from behind him, and Lucius turned to see a newcomer far easier on the eyes than any of his friends and acquaintances. Then again, he might be biased; he'd always loved his wife.

"What did you say, woman?" Yaxley retorted angrily, forgetting his place in his hatred for the Head of the DMLE. Lucius was about to draw his wand and teach the rude man a lesson about proper Pureblood manners when a tiny shake of that beautiful, golden-haired head had him sitting back in his chair. His wife did not need him to win any fights for her. She was his equal with a wand, even if she rarely chose to prove it.

"Let him." Narcissa repeated as she approached with a silver and platinum serving tray heavy with sweet drinks, Firewhiskey, and deliciously smelling pastries. "Amy has always been a fighter, not a politician. If Dumbledore wants to effectively put her in charge of his faction in the Ministry, it is a mistake we must take advantage of. She never knew how to compromise; not back in Hogwarts and not in her carreer in the DMLE. She was always quick to speak up, too, rarely bothering with subtlety. With her a Minister, every time one of the Neutral Houses would ask for favorable treatment, every time they try for an understanding, every time they attempt business as usual, she'll deny them and push them further and further away from Dumbledore. And with that big an enemy, the unassociated Dark Houses will rally to our cause even faster." She smirked, and Lucius' breath caught in his throat at how beautiful she was when she plotted. It had been one of the reasons he'd married her after all, the other three being wealth, shared beliefs, and love. Oh yes, Lucius knew how lucky he was.

Murmurs of agreement came from all over the table as his wife brought everyone breakfast, and then took up her place by his side. "And if you're still planning on that little reunion of yours in the World Cup, what better way to show a new Minister's competence, or lack thereof?" She smiled. "Further destabilizing the Ministry was one of the initial reasons for it, was it not?"

 **xxxx**

Wormtail shivered as another Dementor glided before his dark cell's door, the fiend's unnatural aura rifling through his thoughts and devouring another memory of the good, easy days he'd had in Hogwarts and the Weasley house. His hands and feet, their inexpertly regrown by the prison's single physician, ached at the supernatural cold and Wormtail stumbled and fell.

Only he wasn't Wormtail anymore, was he? His back ached even in human form, his tail as a rat lost in... he couldn't even remember. Probably during the same day he'd lost the bones in his hands and feet, the one day he could not recall even before being sent to Azkaban. The physician had told him the only reason he hadn't lost a limb was because humans didn't have an equivalent to the rat's tail, but there was still some damage in his lower back. Then he'd given him only the minimal dose of Skelegro to rebuild his bones - no reason to waste more on someone with a life sentence - and sent him to this dismal, oppressive, always freezing cell. Pettigrew looked up at a subtly glowing stone stuck on the cell's ceiling well beyond his reach. There was no enchantment or defensive spell that prevented an Animagus from shifting form or exiting a place, and the horror stories of magic-suppressing manacles permanently welded onto every Azkaban prisoner were just that; horror stories. Those facts did not prevent a competent enchanter from spelling an object with the Animagus-Reversal spell, however; every time Peter had tried to shift the stone had zapped him, forcibly and painfully reverting him to human while raising the alarm. And every day he tried he was given no food for that day and the next.

It was horrible, so very horrible. Stripped of all good thoughts and feelings however, deep down Pettigrew was beginning to believe he deserved it. It was not fair! He'd never truly had friends! James Bloody Potter and Sirius Bloody Black only kept him around to make fun of him. Lily had never given him a second glance, and Remus... well, the wolf had been an idiot, hadn't he? His opinion didn't count. What reason had he not to hand them over to the Dark Lord? Not that the Death Eaters had been his friends; far from it. But at least they were honest. Not even Harry, Ron, and their friends had spoken in his favor, protected him when the Aurors came calling. In fact, they'd practically revealed him in their attempt to find and uncover the story of Sirius Black. So now Pettigrew was reduced to throwing pebbles, bones, and the odd piece of junk at the enchanted stone that kept him prisoner more than his cell did. To no avail, of course; charming all bars, walls, and security measures unbreakable was standard procedure since physical force was the only option most prisoners had left.

Suddenly, Pettigrew's enhanced senses picked up the sound of something hard, light, and probably wooden falling in the middle of his cell. Coming out of his endless sobbing, pitiful even in his own ears, he stared at the icy stone floor. And stared. And stared. And stared. Because he could not believe his eyes; it was a wand! Tripping over his own feet in his mad scramble, he ignored the aching jaw and the couple of missing teeth from his impact with the stone floor, and picked up the instrument of his salvation. Old, worn, and brittle, perhaps, it was still oddly warm to the touch and it still responded to him, if barely. Badly matched it might be, it was his ticket out of here.

 _"Reducto!"_

Even more oddly, welcomely warm in his hand as he cast the first spell with it, the wand sent a narrow, weak, silver-blue beam upwards. Weak was exactly how Pettigrew had wanted it, though. A strong Reductor curse might have drilled a hole through the ceiling, opening his cell to every Dementor patrolling the bleak skies above the prison and the soon-to-be escapee could not have that. Reducing the enchanted stone that kept him imprisoned in his human body to fine dust however was just dandy. With a broad smile Pettigrew shifted to his animagus form, prison clothes and wand melding into his new form.

A split second later, the rat had fallen unconscious. A few seconds after that he faded from sight, and was never seen again in the island prison.

 **xxxx**

"Do you know why you're here, Halfblood?" The old, raspy voice boomed, obviously amplified. Dolores Umbridge opened her eyes but saw nothing but darkness. She scanned the area around her blindly with her hands, but found nothing but empty stone floor. Then she screamed, for someone she could not see hit her with a strong, nonverbal pain curse. At least it had not been the Cruciatus.

"I asked you a question, Halfblood. Answer. Or do not." The unseen interrogator paused, allowing for tension to build. Dolores knew the technique well. "It is all the same to me in the end. You will get a sore throat and maybe permanently twitching limbs, I will get a decent workout. And you will still talk." Knowing very well that everyone broke under torture in the end, and having no particular reason not to reply beyond somehow having been abducted from her home in the middle of the night, she did talk.

"I have no idea." She croaked, and hated it. Why did her 'just-out-of-bed-and-coffeeless' voice have to sound like her unknown assailant had cowed her into submission?

"So, you do possess enough faculties for coherent speech. I had been wondering, you see." The old, raspy voice fell silent once more and Dolores seethed. Who was he to speak to the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister like that?! Well, obviously someone rather powerful, to have thus abducted her. "That is good." The voice started up again. "Or at least shorter. We'll see. Do you know what important events took place earlier tonight, Halfblood?"

"No." One-word answers drew less attention to oneself and annoyed one's torturer and abductor less often, Dolores knew from experience. Of course, she'd gained that experience on the other side of the equation.

"Oh, nothing much. Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts again. A werewolf bit the scions of an old Noble family and endangered students, and Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, was assaulted and is in St. Mungo's in critical condition." Umbridge gasped. She couldn't help it; her recently flourishing carreer relied on the Minister too much for her not to. "Yes, I thought that might catch your attention. Don't worry; my sources say the Minister will not be recovering. And it isn't the most important piece of news either." Now the old man growled angrily in the darkness. "No, that would be my grandson's premature, undeserved, very violent death."

Dolores Umbridge remained silent. It was the smartest thing to do, no matter how much she wanted to rail against fate... if those news were the truth.

"Do you hear that, Halfblood? The son of Orford Umbridge and Gwendolyn Selwyn is dead." The old man cackled. It contained not a trace of mirth and more than a bit of madness. "The same Orford Umbridge that did not have enough ambition to become more than a glorified floor-mopper at the Ministry, who was denied my daughter's hand for that, who went on and married a filthy muggle bitch and had a squib son... and you." The old man's -Lord Selwyn's- rage echoed against the walls in his amplified voice and Dolores gulped. "The same Orford Umbridge that you made vanish, along with all those stupid enough to ask you about him - good job by the way."

More silence followed, for over ten minutes. And then...

"Which brings us to our current predicament, Halfblood. I without an heir and too old to make another, you with your false claims of relation to my House. Both of us with a revenge to take, and supporters of similar beliefs. Do you understand, Halfblood?"

"Yes." Dolores Umbridge said, only her sixth word in the past half-hour. Inwardly, she was rather pleased with how her abduction had turned out.

 **xxxx**

Bartemious Crouch apparated to the limits of his old manor's Anti-Disapparation Jinx with barely a sound and started walking towards it at a swift pace. His eyes did not linger on the small muggle village he went through, not being the least bit curious about the comings and goings of the three hundred or so filthy muggles that lived less than a mile from his family's ancestral home. He had far more important things to do than reiterating his disgust at the nonmagicals, or seeing his already low expectations of them fall even lower.

For one thing, he had to mentally prepare himself for the World Cup. As one of the Ministry's few people with enough talent in Charms to personally create Portkeys as well as being the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, he'd soon have to leave England and travel all over the world, setting up thousands of Portkeys spread over five continents. And that was no mean feat, if he said so himself. Unfortunately, his carefully arranged travel plans might soon be upset by other issues.

Cornelius Fudge's inability to continue as Minister would barely affect the preparations for the World Cup, but have far more greater impact on the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. While Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had already agreed to participate in the revival, hardly anything else had been decided. Unless Fudge's replacement was actually competent, the negotiations would be left up to that inexcusable idiot, Bagman. It could not be helped; he simply couldn't coordinate the arrivals of a hundred thousand foreign wizards while also dealing with another major undertaking. Personally, he was hoping for Amelia Bones to take Fudge's place. Not only was she competent enough for the job, if a bit too soft for his liking, but Dumbledore would owe him several favors for his support. The old sorcerer was burning quite a bit of political capital to get his preferred candidate in place for...

"Excuse me, sir!" A too young, too high-pitched, worried voice said. "Could you help me? I am looking for my father and..."

"I am sorry miss, but I cannot help you." Of course he couldn't. She was muggle, obviously a tourist, and indecently dressed in a too-short, white cotton blouse and a pair of jeans cut so far above the knee they might as well be knickers. They were certainly tight enough. The whole image insulted his sensibilities, his traditions, and his sense of propriety to such an extent that only his strict adherence to the Statute of Secrecy prevented the blonde girl from being Cruciated on the spot.

"But sir!" The girl was persistent, and whiny. He bounced after him in her sandals, searching that garish orange satchel of hers for something. Probably muggle money; she thought she could buy his compliance; typicaly muggle. "My father has been missing for a long time and nobody will help me find him!"

"Of course not!" He finally shot back, his patience at an end. "You're what, twenty-five? Twenty-seven? How does someone at your age misplace a family member, woman? Tourists!" The girl stood there, poleaxed. And she was a girl; stronger evidence at how slowly muggles matured compared to wizards he'd never seen. Maybe she was from the Colonies. The muggles at the other side of the pond appeared to be especially immature. "Grow up, stop behaving like a five-year old, and maybe someone will finally help you. Good day!" He turned around to continue on his way, paying no more attention to the stupid muggle girl.

 _"Imperio!"_

"Good, old prejudice does make one blind, does it not?" The girl said sweetly as she strutted into his field of vision while he tried to fight off the mind-numbing Nirvana of the Imperius Curse. She'd finally found what she'd been searching for in that ugly bag of hers, and it was a wand. She fixed him with large, almond-shaped, lavender eyes, then came closer and draped herself all over him. "For your information, Crouch, I am forty-three. And my cousin is not the only member of my family with a NEWT in Muggle Studies. How do you think the anti-muggleborn expeditions I led were so very successful?" She whispered in his ear as he stood there rigidly, then giggled. "Plus I am looking for someone, though he's not quite a father to me. Still close enough to confuse any warning charms you might have had, no? And since I was not planning to hurt you just yet, a _Cave Inimicum_ spell would not have detected a threat, see?" Then she playfully licked his ear and he shuddered. But her Imperius Curse was too strong for him to fight.

"And now Crouch, be a good boy and invite me through your house's defenses, will you?" A very well disguised Bellatrix Lestrange commanded and he had to obey. "We are going to have a good time, you and I, before I leave for the continent. Why, you'll so enjoy yourself you'll make me a Portkey to Albania free of charge. You might even come with me; the Dark Lord likes presents so very much."


	2. The Hogwarts Six

**And our heroes are finally introduced. Are they really heroic though? How are children affected by facing terrible danger and actual combat? What makes for a good family? Will Harry finally get a girlfriend, and how can goblins be totally exploited for the good of wizardkind?**

 **Disclaimer: Did Dumbledore try to bequeath the Sword of Gryffindor to Harry when Harry had access to goblin-forged metal and the password to the Chamber of Secrets and thus Basilisk fangs? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **xxxx**

Summer vacations were a time for fun and relaxation, the burdens of school and homework a remote threat on the horizon that could be safely forgotten until the time came for a frantic last-minute revision before the next school year begun. It was a time of laughter, games, going out with friends and family and having a good time. And maybe for most kids summer could be that; not so for Harry Potter, age fourteen. He had far too many problems and too horrible luck to be truly carefree, but at least his situation had improved considerably over his previous summers and he might have at least some fun.

Stretching in his lopsided but amazingly soft and comfortable bed, Harry smiled at a bout of particularly loud snoring coming from Ron's side of their shared room. The tall, gangly, redheaded boy had been and still was Harry's first and closest friend and he and his family, the Weasleys, had been kind enough to take Harry in as their own for the summer when his aunt and uncle's house had mysteriously burned down last year. Well, it was a mystery for the adults - or so Harry hoped. For a number of convoluted and never sufficiently explained reasons, Harry had been sent to live with the Dursleys after his parents had been murdered when Harry had still been an infant. His aunt and uncle had always hated him though, and having him practically forced upon them had ended up with them perpetually angry and Harry perpetually abused. That had ended last summer when his friends had had enough with the ever-worsening situation and had convinced Harry to resolve it by means of fire. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been very happy to finally be rid of him and buy a new house with the insurance money and a bit of help from parties unknown, and Harry had been even happier to spend the summer with a family that wanted him, away from the machinations of the unknown individuals who'd arranged for all those years of hell with his aunt's family.

Something creaked outside the door of Harry's and Ron's room and despite the very late hour, the near-total darkness, and the probably safe house he was in, Harry moved as swiftly and silently as a shadow. In a split second he'd crouched next to his bed to present a smaller target while drawing the one weapon that might see him through any danger from its resting place under his pillow. Eleven inches of wood and the feather of a Phoenix warm in his right hand, the fourteen-year-old boy tried to listen to the intruder over Ron's snores. The barely audible creaking of wooden stairs begun to fade as the intruder descended to the house's lower floors and Harry wondered whether he should wake up Ron. His friend liked his sleep almost as much as his food; he'd need a cannon to wake him up in the middle of the night. Better not warn the intruder someone was aware of them; who knew how they'd react and the wrong spell in the tight -and wooden- confines of the Burrow could be very dangerous. Hopefully Harry could get the drop on them and deal with them himself. Was he a wizard or not?

Magically supported and haphazardly expanded over the years, the Weasleys' home was both awesome and rather cluttered to support at least nine inhabitants at any moment. Not for the first time, Harry wondered why Mr. Weasley had not applied Expansion Charms to his own home like he had his flight-capable Ford Anglia. Harry had lost count of the number of times his female friends had retrieved useful items from their expanded purses (or hidden them there) and saved the day, or at least avoided detention. Frowning in concentration as he went through an obstacle course of stairs, shoes, wandering quidditch equipment, and other assorted odds and ends without benefit of magical light, he followed the small shifting shadow that could only be the intruder. As they went soundlessly down another floor, Harry did his best to hold in an angry hiss. The only reason the potential Death Eater might be heading that way would be to catch Mr. and Mrs. in their beds! Gritting his teeth, he raised his wand. Prohibition on underage magic or not, he couldn't let anything happen to the Weasley family; with an enormous mental effort, he mouthed the words to the only spell he had a chance of casting silently.

 _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

Daphne Greengrass, a tall, willowy, Slytherin witch in Harry's year that was always overbearing and occasionally friendly to him and Ron, had shared with him a few Dueling secrets her father, a champion Duelist, had revealed. Wizards of sufficient power could perform silent magic to catch enemies by surprise, and cast faster than uttering incantations allowed. When Harry had countered that he was only a bit above average and only thirteen, she'd whacked him over the head, called him stupid, and reminded him of his fending off a hundred Dementors with one Patronus spell. So Harry had spent the last month of their third year practicing with the most useful but normally slowest curse he knew. When nothing but a few sparks flew out of the end of his wand, he swallowed his desire to swear and hastily followed the half-glimpsed shadow while repeating the spell in his mind. His fourth attempt produced results, a barely visible distortion in the air hitting the potential Death Eater and toppling them. Unfortunately, Harry had missed one of the Weasley Twins' beater bats in his hasty advance. His triumph was interrupted as he, too, toppled down the stairs and fell on his paralyzed target. His rather short and slim target.

"Mrs Weasley is going to kill me." Harry whispered to nobody in particular as he untangled himself from around a rigid and fiercely glaring Ginny Weasley. Hell, Ginny herself was going to kill him. Suspiciously timid whenever Harry was around, the Weasley daughter would not back down before any of her brothers or even the dreaded maternal vehemence. Given how angry her face was at the moment, Harry decided to get over any potential reprisal quickly and cast the counter-curse.

"OW!"

"What the hell were you thinking?" The petite redhead hissed, not at all caring that she'd punched Harry in the eye - and him with his glasses on!

"I thought that..." Harry felt himself go red in embarassment at his stupidity, for a moment not finding the words. "...that Death Eaters were attacking?" he finished weakly.

"Seen any redheaded Death Eaters under five feet lately?" she said acidly. "Nice going, hero. At least you didn't wake up Mum." They both rose to their feet in the Burrow's kitchen, Harry nursing some sore ribs and limbs after having tumbled down the stairs, Ginny very deliberately not helping him. For the first time in his life, Harry was on the receiving end of the second most terrible force in the Burrow; the youngest Weasley's fiery temper. So much for the girl's timidity, he thought. It wasn't solely his fault, what with her stealing down the stairs in the middle of the night...

"Wait a minute..." He frowned at the girl still fuming at him balefully. "What were _you_ doing up in the middle of the night?" His question was rewarded with Ginny blushing much more impressively than he had, visible even under the moonlight shining in from the windows.

"Something more practical than hunting Death Eaters, that's for sure." The girl mumbled then looked up defiantly at him. "I was going to practice my flying, if you must know. I'm going to try out for the team this year. And by Merlin, if you tell Mum or my brothers Potter, you'll get so thoroughly hexed you'll think I were Bellatrix herself."

"You can fly?" Was his only response to that declaration. He couldn't help it; he was confused. Catching Ron's sister in the middle of the night because she wanted to practice on a broom was far tamer than his usual adventures.

"What are you insinuating, you git?" She huffed, blushing again for some reason. "You think you're the only natural flyer in Britain?"

"Umm, it's not that." Harry backpedaled fast, sensing that he'd somehow made another enormous blunder. "It's just that... Ron always said you don't fly. You don't even have a broom..."

"Of course I don't; my own brothers don't even believe I can fly and Mum won't let me try." She sighed tiredly all of a sudden. "Even you think so..."

"Ginny, I'm sorry." He said hastily. What limited experience with girls he'd gleaned over the years by having at least one female friend told him he needed to apologize immediately. "I didn't know... of course I won't tell. I could even give you a few pointers if you want."

"Really?" Ginny's mood shifted so fast Harry could hardly believe it. "Let's go nick Ron's broom and liberate your own. This is going to be great!"

Harry followed the youngest Weasley to the moonlit grounds outside, his customary midnight birthday celebration forgotten.

 **xxxx**

 _"Cantis!"_

Daphne frantically rolled under the pink bolt of magic and tried to retaliate. Her sister Astoria no longer was the innocent girl she'd once been. Using the Singing Jinx to force Daphne to sing dirty limericks was fast becoming her favorite tactic in their duels. Even worse, the recipients of Daphne's forced serenades invariably were Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bulstrode and, worst of all, Ronald Weasley.

 _"Cantis! Cantis! Cantis!"_

Unfortunately, after Daphne and her friends stumbled in a deadly situation for the third year in a row in Hogwarts, Father decided to take rather extreme measures. And where muggle parents would have long since pulled their daughters from any school frequented by terrorists and murderers, the Ancient and Noble Purebloods that the Greengrasses were had chosen serious Dueling practice instead. The kind where Daphne had been magically silenced as incentive to learn nonverbal spells as soon as possible. She didn't even know how many times her little sister had found her mark until she heard her own singing after each duel was over. Jumping over a jinx, sidestepping another, and rolling under the third with less than an inch to spare, she glared at a smirking Astoria and sent a barrage of Stinging Hexes at her.

The youngest Greengrass, dyed-black hair dancing, eyes gleaming in excitement, caught the weak attacks on her Shield Charm. She was allowed to use incantations of course, in the interest of fairness. 'Fairness' Morgana's tits, Daphne mentally swore. Astoria was milking the sudden reversion of their power balance for all it was worth. Case in point...

 _"Calvorio!"_

No, no, no! Daphne was not going to take Hair Loss Curses without being able to defend herself! She loved her silvery mane too much for that. In a Gryffindor move worthy of a Weasley, she recklessly jumped forward, using her weight and momentum to break through her sister's still-weak Shield Charm. Then she punched a gaping Astoria in the face, and took her wand before she could recover. Of course, far from being the end of their duel, that was the signal that it could devolve into a mad struggle involving everything from hair-pulling to not-so-accidental magic.

"ENOUGH!"

Father's magically amplified voice gave the warring siblings pause, and his coldly furious glare sent them scampering to their respective corners of the dueling stage.

"Are you witches of an Ancient and Noble House, or Kneazles clawing each other for no reason at all?" shouted the tall, imposing, old Duelist, his face seeming even more heavily lined as he scowled. "Is this how you plan to defend yourseves from the enemies of the House?"

"Daddy..." started Astoria but for once Father's harshness did not melt away as he faced his youngest.

"Go to your rooms. If you insist on behaving like little girls, then you'll be punished just so." He shook his head and restored Astoria's nose with a flick of his wand. "You're obviously not taking this with the seriousness it requires."

"Trying to curse my hair off was a total bitch move." Daphne told her sister with more than a bit of ice in her voice as the two of them climbed up from the dungeons of Greengrass Tower.

"It pushed you into winning, didn't it?" the younger girl quipped. "Though I'd expected you to jinx me. Were you trying to ruin this perfection?" She asked indicating her own face.

"I'll show you perfection, you little terror!" Daphne said, drawing her wand as Astoria squealed and disappeared into the upper floors at a dead run.

"What do you think, Duncan?" a voice said from their father's left, its owner fading into visibility a moment later. The old Duelist looked up at a woman that was a dead ringer for an older, more regal Daphne and shook his head.

"They aren't ready, Selene." He sighed. "They'll never be ready, not in time."

"Our eldest is at least as good as you were in her age, possibly better." Lady Greengrass countered in a rather critical tone, arms crossed. "You can't expect a fourteen year old to be a master Duelist."

"Leave war preparations to me, dear. That's why you married me." The grizzled old man smirked at her evident indignation, then his expression turned serious once more. "Our children have made dangerous allies. Astoria is obviously aiming to claim the Malfoy boy sooner or later, and Daphne is interested in Potter, whether she'll admit it or not. Given all that's happened in the past three years, another war is too close for my liking. Dumbledore's whitewashing of events is even worse; it's leaving the Ministry dangerously uninformed, and the old man won't live forever. Most of the Death Eaters are free, too. Maybe our kids will be ready in ten, twenty years. What happens if the Dark Lord returns in five? What happens if he returns tomorrow?"

"That is rather unreasonable." Selene Greengrass says, frowning prettily. "And you're drawing up estimates without some critical information."

"They agreed?" He asked incredulously.

"Dowager Longbottom is not a fool; anyone who underestimates the old battleaxe might find themselves shorter by a head, politically or otherwise." She sniffed. "Black is an idiot though; he didn't believe me. Compared me with that Zabini creature, with her six dead husbands. He thought I was fishing." She snorted again in annoyance, tossing her long golden hair around, a gesture often copied by their eldest daughter, and Duncan was reminded how lucky he had been to be chosen by her two decades ago. "Bones is amenable, but cautious. She's marshalling allies and contacts to survive her position as a Minister and needs all the help she can get. She won't accept a too friendly gesture from a Dark House though, not yet. All things being equal, with Fudge out of the way there is a chance for a neutral Ministry and Wizengamot given a few years so it won't be as bad as you expect should _he_ return."

"We'll still lose if the war comes too soon." He cautioned. "Whoever got rid of Malfoy's puppet anyway?"

"No idea." She laughed. "Not that they'll come forward, even with Bones aware of how it helped. She'd always been too law-abiding for her own good."

"If only Daphne had cursed the Potter boy in the back during the Philosopher's Stone incident, life would have been so much simpler." The old Duelist lamented.

"And so much less interesting, husband mine." Lady Greengrass added. "Besides, there are compensations. There's a good chance the fanatics from both sides will kill each other in the coming war, leaving Wizarding Britain in the hands of... moderates such as ourselves."

"I don't think the Weasleys will die out; they spawn far too rapidly." Her husband countered. "As for the moderates, isn't Zabini presenting herself as one?"

"Aren't we all? But you're right." Lady Greengrass bit her lip, blue eyes narrowed in concentration. "You should go collect our misbehaving offspring for some more practice, husband. I have letters to send, unfortunate events to arrange."

As always after their private conversations, the grizzled veteran Duelist was left with a wistful smile. He'd never be comfortable with the underhanded means and hidden brutality of politics, but he'd never wish things had gone down a different path either. Humoring a much younger, seemingly naive noble girl's demand when an injury had prevented him from entering the last British Dueling Championship had been the best decision of his life.

 **xxxx**

"Happy birthday, Harry dear!"

"Yeah, happy birthday mate!"

"Congrats on surviving another year, Harrykins."

The Burrow had somewhat of a festive atmosphere all summer what with Mum's great meals and anywhere from seven to seventeen people around at a time, Ron reckoned. But on Harry's fourteenth birthday, given one opportunity to mother Harry as much as her own sons while Sirius recovered, Mum had pulled all the stops; a five-course dinner, a truly enormous cake, hand-made decorations deployed in enough numbers to fit the Great Hall in Hogwarts, and week-long planning more complex than any chess game ever played - he'd checked. Despite all the family putting a lot more work into this occasion than they'd ever done for any other holiday except for Ginny's birth, Ron could not find it in himself to feel resentful.

Maybe it was because Harry would spend the whole summer with them. Maybe it was because Harry had never celebrated his birthdays before. Maybe it was because Ron had his best mate along, someone who'd take his side over that of his siblings (except maybe Ginny). Maybe it was due to all the adventures they'd had together. Maybe it was that Ron had come back this year with better marks than ever before. Whatever the cause, Ron was looking forward to the party as much as anyone else.

The past five weeks had been awesome. Dedicating the whole first week to homework at Harry's suggestion had proven a great idea; summer assignments had been so much easier with all that studying for the end-of-term exams fresh in his mind. Not to mention that after he'd finished, Mum had been left so surprised she'd yet to give him any chores. But the biggest change had been...

"Hey there champ..." Fred said, sitting to his left.

"...what's your secret?" George asked, sitting to his right.

"Not this again!" He groaned as the Twins flanked him between them and closed off all avenues of escape. "You've been bugging me all summer!"

"Tis not our fault..."

"...you've sorely tempted us..."

"...new broom..."

"...new robes..."

"...an endless supply..."

"...of glittering galleons..."

"Shut up!" Ron growled, his good mood evaporating at their endless interrogation. "Dad knows where the money came from and that's that. 'Sides, they're mostly gone now." Honestly, if he'd known Fred and George would hound him like that instead of just gaping enviously as he'd expected them to, he'd never have done it. He'd tried everything to avoid them so far, even extra studying, but they just... wouldn't... budge. Well... not everything.

"Still there Ronniekins?" Fred said when he'd not spoken for some time - all of twenty seconds.

"Not boring you, are we?" George asked with a smirk.

"Bloody hell, you're insufferable." He groaned, glaring down at them. He'd finally grown taller than they were, the only good thing about his dealings with his twin brothers over the past month. "OK, I'll tell you the secret - but only for something just as good in exchange."

"You'll tell?" Fred's eyes narrowed as if he'd smelled... well, not a rat. After the whole thing with Wormtail, he knew rats could be very innocent-looking (and smelling) when they wanted to.

"By oath?" George asked, just as suspicious at Ron's change of heart.

"I am no longer five." He said with a glare of his own. The Twins had tried "testing" the Unbreakable Vow years ago, with him as the test subject. Mum had not been amused. "But you can confirm it with Dad. My price is you two helping Harry and I practice spells this summer." There; a challenge they'd never beat with a big bait they could afford not to take. Mum even took their wands so they wouldn't accidentally break the law and have the Ministry after them.

"Deal!" Both Twins said in unison. Good he'd soon be rid of them..

"In a show of our good faith..."

"...we'll tell you the secret right now."

...What?

Before Ron could recover, both Twins had drawn wands and were already casting. With one flick they'd turned his hair really curly. With another, they'd turned his face as red as Ron's worst blunders had ever made it.

"H-how?"

"We invented fake wands, remember?" George said with a smirk.

"So we let Mum hide those instead of bothering to nick them back like we do every other year." Fred finished.

"Now spill." Both Twins demanded.

"B-but what about the Reasonable Underage... Restriction... thingy?" Sighing in disappointment at his question, Fred and George looked around at the party still going on strong, confirming Mum was nowhere nearby and Percy wasn't about to overhear.

"Come on, Ronniekins! Explosions have been coming out of our room every summer for years." Fred said with a long-suffering expression. "Of course we were using magic. What do you think we were doing, making muggle explosives?"

"Honestly mate, Ginny has known for ages. Been nicking her own wand back and having Bill teach her curses, too." George confirmed. "We live in a magical home and there are nine of us; how's the Ministry to tell who's doing the spells? Not to mention Dad put up some Secrecy Charms to hide his illegal tinkering."

Ron groaned while the Twins laughed. Ginny would never let him hear the end of this. Maybe if he was honest, the Twins would not share?

"Ah... OK... please don't repeat this, right?" Fred and George gave him identical evil smirks and Ron gulped. "It involves a bet, a girl, and a hundred galleons..."

 **xxxx**

Unlike many other old Houses, the Davis family didn't have a great family manor or other major assets appropriate for their status. Despite their long history, they'd only been elevated to the nobility fairly recently and had never been taken seriously by other Noble or Ancient Houses. Unfortunately for their many detractors in high society circles, what they did have was a head for business, many small, easily developed properties all over Britain and beyond, and a total disregard for propriety to rival any merchant or commoner. In short they were the perfect businessmen, as their multiple import-export operations, stables for breeding magical creatures, information brokers, and even a dragon reserve in the Hebrides could attest. All hidden behind corporations or under other names of course, so the true wealth and power of the House would not be obvious in the eyes of the parochial upper class.

Another major difference between House Davis and typical old money families was that every member had to learn one of the trades in the family business and was expected to be in charge of the family's interests in it after Hogwarts. It cut down on arguments and inheritance fights significantly as well as ensured no Davis scion would ever be useless. Now if some family members just happened to be assigned to the more menial and accident-prone positions... well... their mudblood mother shouldn't have seduced Lord Davis' son. On the other hand, Tracey could appreciate a job that fit her talents, risks or no risks. And when she not only survived but prospered in it, her cousins in the lesser branch of the family would have to live with their disappointment... and a new Half-blood Lady Davis whose orders they'd have to follow. Silly Ravenclaws and their obvious, pitiful plans.

"Easy, boy. Easy now." She called out to the spooked Granian, doing with patience and persuasion what most wizards would have tried to do with a wand. Granians being fast enough to charge a hundred yards in the blink of an eye and strong enough to shatter a Troll's bones in one kick, patience was better than the alternative. Leading the wayward winged horse back to its stall, she inspected the runic scripts on the entrance. Old-style runic magic was slower and more unwieldy than modern enchantment but easier to make permanent without great amounts of power. Unless the inscription was destroyed, the magic would remain and simple maintenance was something any third year who'd taken Runes as an elective could do. Problem was, the script wasn't worn at all. Neglect? Sabotage? Something more sinister? The small-framed brunette didn't know.

"Who let you out, boy?" Naturally, the Granian did not reply. Sighing, the youngest Davis scion sealed the entrance magically, then continued with cleaning and repairs. As Granians reacted to spellcasting suspiciously at best and in blind aggression at worst, much of the work had to be done manually - or with subtle nonverbal magic cast by Disillusioned workers, something beyond Tracey's abilities still. On the other hand, physical work gave her plenty of time to think.

Tracey had been friends with Daphne Greengrass as far back as she could remember. Their families had joined their efforts in a certain business venture, a cooperation decided upon in a chance encounter between Lady Greengrass and Tracey's father. Much to Tracey's and her mother's relief, the then Heir Davis had never gotten what he'd really wanted but their families had retained a tentative alliance. Daphne's and Tracey's playdates had been a good excuse for the adults to covertly exchange information so they had continued until the year before last, when hints of the real comings and goings of Hogwarts had trickled through Dumbledore's whitewashing... and Lord Davis had scrambled to distance herself from the Greengrasses.

Tracey's other friends were even less welcome in her home, or her Grandfather's attention. Harry Potter was a threat in more ways than one, Ron Weasley came from a family of Blood Traitors, and her last friend she'd carefully hidden from her family entirely, on account of her being a mudblood. Neville was more acquaintance than friend, and the dreaded Augusta Longbottom was a fierce enemy of all Dark Houses. Thus it came to be that the Davis Heiress spent her summers alone, her cousins on the lookout for opportunities to move against her.

Life sucked... and then you died.

 **xxxx**

 _The Dark Lord is on the move, his Death Eaters are still free, and Dumbledore is growing old._

Augusta Longbottom stared at the words on the tiny slip of parchment she'd found in her bedroom the previous night, then at her cheerful, widely smiling grandson. She knew the truth of those words, had been aware of it since Bellatrix Lestrange had escaped Azkaban and almost killed Neville and his friends in Hogwarts Castle itself. If it hadn't been for Sirius Black... should she reconsider her position against the Black family? Auntie Callidora might even speak to her if she did... but no. Not as long as _that bitch_ was still alive. But with some of her old contacts sending cryptic messages to her... what was she to do about Neville?

"Gran, did you see?" Neville strode it in a quick, energetic pace, his hands brown with soil, his robes green in places after all the hours he'd spent in the greenhouses. "The Dittany plantation is flourishing! Maybe we could even make enough extract to more than cover the costs and branch out to other..."

She tuned out the boy's Herbology-related speeches. Plants were all well and good, useful even. But they were not a skill that would help in a fight. Neville had finally -finally!- shown some aptitude for combat magic if Sirius Black and Severus Snape were to be believed, but unless he spent more than his usual four hours practicing, he'd be woefully unprepared when the Chief Bastard returned. Even worse, Neville showed not one iota of talent for combat Tranfiguration, a skill that many great Duelists swore by. She'd tried to teach him, of course. After several attempts she'd been forced to conclude that he might never continue Transfiguration to NEWT level.

"...and maybe some Mandrakes!" Neville finished excitedly. "Gran, can I go to the World Cup?"

"Oh Neville." He'd been asking that for a month now, trying to surprise her and maybe change her mind. "You know we can't go. The World Cup is always chaotic, tens of thousands of foreign wizards coming from all over the world. People have been lost during it before, and not all of them turned up months later in another continent." The real reason was not that, of course. She'd seen the reservations and knew Malfoy and his hooligans would be there. And the whole thing had been set up by Crouch, of all people. Even after twelve years, she was sure one of the real perpetrators of the abomination done to her son and his wife was still out there, eployed by the Ministry. She was all but certain Crouch had sacrificed his son to save his own skin... and succeeded. Not something she could share with Neville, though.

"Ah, OK Gran..." the boy said uncertainly. "Maybe... could I... call some of my friends over? You know, for a visit?"

"Certainly." She agreed, giving her grandson one of her rare smiles. She cared for him so much she often didn't know how to best deal with everything that happened in Hogwarts lately, but that much she could give him. "Just make sure to mention your friends to the House Elves. We can't have visitors staying in unprepared rooms now, can we?"

Even if some of his friends were Slytherins.

 **xxxx**

"Whoa, you bought a Tardis?" As first words to a younger sibling after nearly ten months of absence went, that phrase left something to be desired.

"It's a tent, Claude." Valeria told her brother drily as he walked into what would soon be her new lab. "And no nerdgasms, please."

"Can't promise that, sis." The oldest Campbell child said, staring around in wonder. "I mean, it's bigger on the inside than the outside. I don't suppose it can travel through time?"

"Don't be absurd." The fourteen-year-old witch said dismissively, tucking an errant blonde lock behind her left ear while carefully unwrapping a fairly advanced Potions kit from its packaging. No, her Time-Turner was secured behind as many protective spells as her Head of House knew how to cast for the duration of the summer holidays. Better safe than starting Paradox-eggedon, after all... though that might be unavoidable given that the incompetent Ministry that had loaned it to her for her studies must have more Time-Turners for its own use. Valeria shuddered at the thought.

"This must have cost a fortune!" Her brother stated, indicating the mostly empty space stretching some twenty-five feet from the wizarding tent's entrance. "It's the most impressive magic you've brought in so far."

"It was the cheapest model." She corrected him, sending several boxes to their designated place with a few Levitation Charms. "It has a fairly strong Space Expansion Charm, but that's still one charm. Most magical tents have at least a couple fully furnished rooms and a bathroom inside, and I saw a model with over a dozen rooms." Bag of standard ingredient mix A, box of standard ingredient mix B, shrunk cauldrons, standard textbooks, Polyjuice experiment 37 - eeew, nasty... ah, there they were; test sickles one through seven. "Frankly, having it charmed Unplottable cost far more... Claude, could you help me for a moment?"

"Unplottable?" Her brother asked, still a bit awed at all the magical paraphernalia she'd accumulated over three very active years.

"Here. It's better than explaining." She said, handing over a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill. "Draw up our house or just my room with the tent in it." She prodded the test sickles with a Revealing Charm while her brother did so, ensuring she wouldn't mix them up. Goblin-forged precious metals had some rather peculiar properties and...

"What the hell?" Claude protested, seeing his efforts unmake themselves repeatedly from the parchment. "Is this some kind of magical practical joke?"

"No." Using magic at her family's expense was not something she'd do. Not when acceptable targets like Draco Malfoy were around. "Wizards would be just as unable to place this tent on a map as you are, or otherwise put its location in writing."

"So people in it can't reveal its existence?" He scratched his head, then grinned. "Awesome, but impractical; I like it."

"Sure, if by 'in it' you mean 'all over the world'." Hmm, Sickles six and seven didn't appear to retain additional properties. Maybe not all substances were compatible? This needed some extra testing.

"..."

"Claude? Are you OK?" The question stirred Claude out of his landbound fish impersonation, though his eyes remained a bit wider than was comfortable.

"There are spells that can affect the entire world?" He almost whispered.

"A few." She shrugged. She'd stopped being surprised by magic and started eagerly exploiting it years ago. "The entire Quidditch World Cup of 1877 somehow disappeared from both memory and records worldwide, for example. Personally I believe some idiot didn't like his team losing and tried to hide the fact behind a really powerful Fidelius Charm, but the truth is we might never know."

"I don't want to know." He snorted, picked up one of her textbooks and leafed through it. "What do you want an unfindable tent for, anyway?"

"It's 'Unplottable'." She smiled in satisfaction as she packed some assorted odds and ends with the Packing Charm. "Fun fact; if an area's location can't be revealed, locator spells won't work in it."

"You're doing something illegal again, aren't you?" Claude sighed. "Father's a bad influence on you. At least you're not smuggling anything dangerous yet." No, she was only making them... but what Claude didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Probably. Speaking of which...

"I think I've answered enough questions for now. How about a bit of help?"

"Sure sis." He put the textbook down on the empty floor; Valeria hadn't brought in any desks or bookcases yet. "What do you want me to do?"

"Catch." With a flick of her wand, she physically threw one of the test sickles at her brother since most magic did not affect goblin-forged silver.

"Genuine wizarding coinage... neat..." Claude said, his words slurring at the end. He swayed on his feet and a few seconds later he'd collapsed, fast asleep.

Valeria removed the sickle with gloved hands from her brother's palm and looked it over. The infusion of goblin-forged silver with the sleeping solution had taken well enough. Unfortunately, mere contact was not enough for the antidote so infusing a silver coin with it would not have worked and Claude would not have appreciated being stabbed with some goblin-forged dagger even if Valeria had managed to find one. Fortunately, she'd prepared some antidote in advance and cast softening charms on the tent's floor too. Now the only thing left was to find some rats to test the sickles infused with more dangerous substances. Maybe look into whether this property of goblin-forged precious metals was due to the runes on the coins or some other process. Oh, and study the Space Expansion and Unplottable Charms; since their casting or even learning by private citizens had been made illegal by the Ministry, finding books on them had been hard. And then there was homework, reading ahead, practicing the spells she already knew, improving her reanimation techniques, exploring magical theory...

Honestly, the ambition to become a really powerful witch or wizard was a far better fit for Hufflepuffs than Slytherins.


	3. Invitations

**Merry Christmas and a happy new year, everyone! This probably is my last update for 2015 and it's a smaller chapter so I could make the deadline despite the holidays taking up loads of time. On the other hand, you can expect the next chapter to be up pretty soon.**

 **Unplottability erases the information rather than preventing it being written in the first place because it's less power-intensive. Some attempts to write information could be really powerful, especially using magic. Goblin silver is alchemically imbued with its properties since even runeless, unenchanted items made of it share those traits. Val doesn't know that though - yet. As for clever exploits, Val's upbringing is to blame.**

 **Disclaimer: Did two of the challenges in the Triwizard Tournament have the entirety of the action hidden from both the audience and the judges, with any spectators just waiting to see which champion reappeared first? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter; JK Rowling does and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **xxxx**

A half-giant, an ex-Death Eater, and Albus Dumbledore entering a bar; it sounded like the beginning of some bad joke. Unfortunately for Amelia Bones it was a situation she had to preside over, being Minister for Magic of the host country for the attempted resurrection of the Triwizard Tournament. The alternatives, letting an incompetent like Ludo Bagman handle the negotiations, or having Barty Crouch and Igor Karkaroff try to come to any agreement when the former had sent the latter to Azkaban once upon a time... Amelia did not need that kind of headache. Not that trying to get several powerful and opinionated wizards - and one idiot - to agree to anything was any easier, but at least she'd meet any issues head-on than wait for them to surprise her later.

"...Britain designing all the challenges is obviously unfair." Karkaroff was saying in his oily, disagreeable manner. "Hogwarts' champion will have the advantage!"

"You can't be thinking we'd cheat, Igor old boy?" Bagman said incredulously, and Amelia's hope of peaceful cooperation with the French and Scandinavian Ministries diminished a little more. "Besides I got all these great ideas for the challenges, they'll turn out perfect!" The retired Quidditch player's enthusiasm skyrocketed at that, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement, Crouch looked on expressionlessly, Karkaroff sneered, Madam Maxime huffed in annoyance, and Amelia refrained from facepalming; it was hardly dignified. They'd all heard Bagman's list of suggestions and ideas more than once, not one of which was devoid of glaring problems. Alienating the foreign delegation by not taking their suggestions into account was only the least of them.

"We 'ave all hea'd o' you' suggestions monsieur Bagman." The imposing Headmistress of Beauxbatons said rather stiffly. "We don't quite ag'ee wit' them." _Because they're frankly laughable_ Amelia added mentally. Out of eight possible challenges Bagman had so far suggested, only one allowed the audience to watch the action, three had taken into account the champions not acting in the exact manner Bagman expected, and only two had passable security. None had all three - of course. She looked at the detached, dispassionate Barty Crouch with a frown. Why wasn't he reining Bagman in, making suggestions of his own? Being capable of organization at an enormous scale had always been one of the man's greatest talents, and he'd always jumped at the slightest opportunity to take charge in the past. With a glare at the silently laughing Dumbledore - the old man could and would find almost anything amusing - she decided to step in before this Triwizard Tournament became history as modern wizarding Britain's greatest blunder.

"Gentlemen, lady, fighting over this is beneath us." She said bluntly, challenging the ex-Death Eater or the half-giantess to prove her wrong. "Historically the Triwizard Tournament had always been an attempt at international magical cooperation, so why not promote the same in a fair manner?"

"You have a suggestion, I assume?" Igor Karkaroff challenged back, his habitual sneer a bit more pronounced when looking at her than any of the others save Bagman.

"It's simple enough." She smiled winningly, showing more teeth than mirth. "Why not have representatives of each school design an equal number of challenges? That would only be fair, don't you think?" She waited for the others to think it over, but she knew they would agree. By dividing responsibility between the three schools she was effectively turning the challenges themselves into a contest. In situations such as these few could resist showing off, which meant she'd get the best challenges the representatives could come up with. She was also partially outsourcing the preparations, lightening the Ministry's load so soon after the World Cup, and promoting cooperation rather than arguments. It didn't take the others long to concede, though Karkaroff did so last and most grudgingly.

"Excellent. Once we come up with finalized lists, we can look them over and see to additional details." She pointedly did not look at Crouch now, the only one of them who'd yet to contribute in any way. "Which brings us to the two other major points; the audience and the champions."

"What about them, Amelia?" Dumbledore said with a smile, and she smirked back. The point she was about to bring up had not been entirely her idea. In fact, it had come up in one of her arguments with Lucius Malfoy and his endless, needling criticism of her every action in the two weeks she'd been Minister. One of the reasons she was stealing the idea was its being actually good. The other? It would annoy both Lord Malfoy and her rather unreliable patron.

"The audience size you're expecting and preparing for, Albus." She pointed at the parchment full of figures and plans that had been the Grand Sorceror's contribution to the discussion so far. "Two thousand seats? Really? That's fifty times less than the World Cup. Unless we want this Tournament to be only a footnote when this year is put into history books, we need to do something about it."

"I believe they'll be quite enough for all students and their families, given the size of Durmstrang's and Beauxbaton's delegations." Dumbledore inclined his head to the other two Headmasters, silver beard gleaming under the magical lights. "Unless you have something else in mind?"

"I do." She nodded emphatically. "Why aren't we selling tickets? In fact, why are we keeping this a secret for the summer? If we want this venture to be successful..."

"You'd monetize such a traditional undertaking of magical cooperation?" Dumbledore asked, somehow conveying his disappointment in the words. He was the only one; Karkarov and Maxime did not seem to have a problem with the potential profits, Crouch was impassive still, and Bagman... he cackled with glee like an old witch in a fairytale.

"That's amazing, Amelia!" He all but jumped up and down in his seat. "If we make an early announcement, draw in more interest, play to the people's expectations, why we could have five times the audience - ten!" The idea of ten times as big a crowd seemed to energize him like an extra-strong Euphoria Elixir, his face positively shining with childish enthusiasm.

"I was more thinking about supporting wizarding education." She said drily. "Any profits could be divided evenly between the participating schools both to pay for each delegation's expenses and to add to each school's funds directly." If this succeeded, Lucius Malfoy would not have a leg to stand on criticizing her decisions as Minister. A step towards breaking Hogwarts from its reliance on Ministry funding and ex-Death Eater donations would also be a good thing. She might even invite the Malfoys to observe; gloating was fun if you were the one doing it.

As the meeting went on, Amelia Bones allowed herself to be somewhat optimistic about the Triwizard Tournament's revival.

 **xxxx**

"This is ridiculous!" the stocky girl with the short, messy, brown hair said, fiddling with her stupid striped necktie and simple, knee-length skirt. The dozen or so similarly-dressed young girls in their group did not give an opinion either way, as expected. The taller, dark-haired, striking girl with the dimples and the easy smile, their obvious leader through more than just being slightly older and wearing a different uniform, snorted in amusement.

"Of all the things we could be doing now, we had to join a pack of muggle brats?"

"Stop whining _Junior_ , and enjoy this learning opportunity." The tall, older girl gave the younger a nasty smirk. "Ah, but you can't, can you? Funny how changing genders takes all the fun out of changing genders. There's a reason Polyjuice isn't the most popular potion out there."

"I'm not a child anymore, Lestrange." The younger girl snapped petulantly. "You're so not the boss of me." Huffing, puffing, and totally ignoring the irony of that statement, the whiny girl went on. "Why did we have to debase ourselves like this anyway? We could have overpowered our target in the dead of night without this... charade."

"Possibly. Probably, even." The taller girl admitted. "But it wouldn't have been nearly as fun. And the Dark Lord saw my plan as the most prudent, so there!" She said, sticking out her tongue. "Now, did you bring the cookies?"

"This is so demeaning." The other girl said, mentally commanding one of the real, Imperiused girls to bring forth the box. "The Dark Lord's so-called most favored, pretending to be a muggle brat."

"The correct term is 'Girl Scout', Junior." The older girl said with a pleased smile. "Now get ready to invite our target to that special activity we're organizing; I can see him coming already. And for Merlin's sake, do remember to smile. You're supposed to be an excitable little muggle girl."

Fantasizing about all the ways he could slowly and horribly murder the other girl, a polyjuiced Barty Crouch Junior fixed his new form's best smile in place and prepared for his inevitable humiliation and the good, glorious possibility that the ridiculous plan would fail and they'd have a fight on their hands.

 **xxxx**

The quiet Victorian house on Number seven, Cromer Road, was less quiet that morning than most other days of the year. Preparations for the younger Campbell child's early departure were underway, an occasion fraught with danger of exploding potions or runaway magical experiments (literally; many of them could walk, fly, or had other means of propulsion), snarky commentary from older brothers, and the attention of doting parents. The latter caused fourteen-year-old Valeria as much distress as any occasion in her not-so quiet life, and given the presence of disembodied Dark Lords in magical Britain, that was saying something.

"Did you pack your new robes, dear?"

"Yes, mother."

"Your dress robes? The school list insisted on them, you know."

"Yes, mother."

"Did you try on those new bras I got you? How do they fit?"

"Mother!"

The teenage girl's indignant, long-suffering protest was interrupted by her older bother's too-loud, too-stupid-sounding peals of laughter. Glowering at both offending family members, the young witch turned around sharply, tossed her golden mane over one shoulder, and stalked up the stairs to her room. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, her brother Claude followed.

"Hey half-pint! No spells to divert parental attention? No ring of protection from embarrassment?" He fondly messed with his sister's hair and Valeria growled threateningly. Ever since his recent growth spurt he lost no opportunity to show her exactly how much younger and shorter she was without fear of reprisal; he knew how inexplicably fond of him she was, the bloody wanker.

"If you don't want to wake up and find invisible zombie rats sharing your bed, you'll cut off the commentary right now." She hissed.

"Aww, is little Valley upset at Mommy's new interest in her?" He said with a too-wide grin. "Is she scared of -gasp!- finally growing up?"

"Invisible zombie diseased rats. Carrying bubonic plague."

"Empty threat little sis. I've read your books too, remember?" He followed her into the no-longer cramped bedroom with the magically expanded tent, most of the clutter, books, potion kits and enchanting kits she'd accumulated over the years now moved into her new lab inside the tent. With a far more practical and mobile hidden space to call her own, the coming year was going to be interesting; no more having to hide from Prefects and Professors in random classrooms or hidden Chambers to research and cast the more interesting spells. "Not only is necromancy illegal according to several of your textbooks, but it takes a really powerful witch or wizard to do. Which is kinda lame if you ask me. I mean, making minions is a pretty standard tactic and not nearly as bad as blowing people up. Your magical world lacks balance and... GAAH!"

Deep in thought comparing wizarding Britain to his favorite roleplaying games, her brother had failed to notice the chair he'd attempted to sit on was already occupied. She couldn't fault him though; the occupants had been Disillusioned. Fortunately for her, her minions were sturdy enough to take Claude's weight without damage. Unfortunately for her brother, they'd been instructed to attack in the event of anyone sitting on them precisely because her brother had an annoying tendency to barge into her room and occupy her chair or bed.

"You were saying, brother?" She asked, one pale eyebrow rising in challenge as two rat Inferi faded into visibility.

"Oh yeah, I forgot; you're a Campbell." He said, eyeing the little hairless, emaciated monsters with hostility. "Father will smuggle anything but hard drugs and unwilling people, Mother is brokering deals between who knows which corrupt politicians. Of course you'd start making undead just to prank your poor brother, the only sane member of the family..."

Valeria was about to say something about future lawyers and throwing stones when the small hand mirror in her pocket, the oval-shaped one with the ornate silver frame, grew hot. Pulling it out, she tapped it once then looked into it to see something that wasn't her reflection, much as she suddenly wished it had been. A tall, regal-looking, platinum-haired girl stared back at her, with a beautiful if cold heart-shaped face, striking almond-shaped eyes, a French nose, and thin rose-tinted lips.

"Good morning, Campbell." Daphne Greengrass said evenly and formally.

"Good morning, Greengrass." She replied, smiling at one of her few friends. If she wouldn't hold his being an immature idiot against Claude, she couldn't say anything about pureblood formality. "What's the occasion?"

"The Quidditch World Cup, of course." The pureblood princess sniffed. "Actually, my parents just want to meet all of my friends and the opportunity presented itself. They wouldn't bother with Quidditch otherwise."

"That could be problematic." Valeria said, wondering what the Greengrasses might want after three years of silence. "The Weasleys sent me an invitation last night. Apparently, one of their contacts in the Ministry got them really good seats and when they asked Ron and Harry whether they'd like to invite any friends, my name came up."

"Interesting." Daphne sent Valeria a curious expression the shorter girl could make neither head nor tails of. "No matter. My parents, Tracey, and I will meet you, Potter and the Weasleys before the game. Neville too, probably; my parents are badgering Augusta Longbottom into accepting as we speak."

"Really?" Valeria smirked. "Wasn't she in Hufflepuff and they in Slytherin?"

"Goodbye, Campbell." Daphne said with an eye roll. "And tell that tall bloke I assume is your brother to pick up his chin off the floor."

As soon as the communication mirror went dark, she turned around and kicked Claude in the knee. Even so, it took her brother a few moments to shake out of his stupor and find his voice.

"Who..." he cleared his throat loudly. "Who was that?"

"Wow. If you're acting like this, I can't wait for Ron's reaction." Then she very uncharacteristically giggled. "It was Daphne, one of my friends from Hogwarts. Next time you see her do try not to embarrass me any further, will you?" Not that she blamed Claude. The taller girl had always put considerable effort into her looks for practical reasons despite her usual indifference towards most boys, but lately even Valeria envied what she was becoming. Maybe there was something useful about that whole exercise thing, after all?

"Are you sure I can't come to this Quidditch World Cup?" Claude suddenly asked in an alarmingly dreamy tone. She facepalmed... then mentally instructed the rat Inferi to bite him in the arse.


	4. Reunions

**Rejoice; the review-devouring bug has been slain and all messages stolen have been restored like the Olympians coming out of Cronus' belly.**

 **Yep, the 'Triwizard' Tournament is going to be epic with someone not-Imperiused and halfway competent organizing it. Claude is going to be in a few scenes in the story, though as a muggle he can't get involved too much. As for logically explaining things, that's the hardest part in a story with magic. This chapter and the next got rewritten several times because a couple of details simply refused to fit - sorry for the delay, everyone.**

 **EDIT: The last scene of this chapter is not a mistake.**

 **Disclaimer: Were the aftereffects of Ginny's possession ever addressed in the books? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is totally free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

For all that most muggleborns found magical travel uncomfortable, even jarring, wizarding transportation was far superior to its muggle equivalents. Even where comfort was concerned, the momentary unpleasantness of Apparition was insignificant compared to the hours of waiting in airport terminals or train stations, or the mild but even longer-lasting discomfort of being confined to a moving vehicle for a trip hundreds of miles long. Even the annoyance of briefly having to deal with congested traffic situations was more nerve-grating than a few seconds of nausea, and witches and wizards that used magical travel long and frequently enough eventually adapted and no longer suffered ill effects. For those more experienced in Apparition, a journey of a thousand miles was as easy and brief as taking a few steps. Ultimately, it was more cultural bias that convinced muggleborns to the contrary more than anything else, or perhaps having left the muggle world too young to fully grasp the drawbacks of mechanized transportation.

At least that was true for most methods of magical travel, Valeria mused as the Knight Bus jumped from London to Kent with another tremendous bang. The enormous, purple, triple-decker bus was ridiculously noisy and enormously uncomfortable for a vehicle whose invention included time-travel, not to mention a constant cause of minor injuries due to its lack of internal comfort and safety features. The young muggleborn witch had researched the vehicle extensively over the past two years, for more than one reason. Initially she'd been interested only in the spells used in its operation and construction, but a simple overview of public knowledge about it had shifted her goals considerably. It was well known and documented that the bus had been commissioned in 1865 as a method of transport for underage or infirm wizards... except that commercial motorbuses of any kind in the muggle world had only existed as far back as 1905, and the AEC Regent III that the Knight Bus had been made from came out in 1938. Obviously, the Ministry's Department of Mysteries still experimented with time travel despite the unfortunate incident with Eloise Mintumble's five-century jump in 1899 erasing two dozen magicals from existence... and probably tens of thousands of muggles the Ministry of Magic had had no files on.

On the other hand those who live in glass houses should not throw stones, and given Valeria's own abuse of a time-turner over the past year, she'd decided not to bring that particular violation of wizarding law to the authorities. Plus, studying how a wizard with almost certain access to future knowledge had chosen to weave the enchantments on the Knight Bus had already given her several new ideas. Unfortunately, it would be years before she was capable of trying such magic. For that moment, she had to content herself with meeting her friends and going to the Quidditch World Cup finals. As the Knight Bus made an impossibly tight hundred-and-forty-degree turn at over two hundred miles per hour, the young Slytherin smirked at some of the less experienced occupants losing their footing or sliding all the way to the vehicle's rear along with most of the beds the unlikely vehicle had instead of seats. Unlike them, she'd used a Sticking Charm to fix her own bed into place, a Featherweight Charm to make herself considerably lighter, and a couple of animation charms on the sheets to have them hold her in place on their own accord. Her smirk vanished a few moments later however, when her multiple-compartment trunk broke the straps securing it and started dancing around the vehicle's interior. The materials and enchantments that made it secure against other Slytherins' attempts to steal her stuff also made it resistant to Sticking Charms and the pimply-faced, barely out of Hogwarts Conductor had told her in no uncertain terms that she was not to apply Unbreakable Charms to anything, the luggage rack included. How a good-natured, dim-witted showoff like Stan Shunpike had ever been sorted into Slytherin she'd never know, but at least they hadn't met during her first year in Hogwarts and his seventh; any hope of a muggleborn being socially accepted in the House of Serpents would have died under the weight of such an embarassment.

Dreading the mess her stuff would be found in later, the short blonde girl disembarked a few minutes later in Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon.

 **xxxx**

The small, unassuming suburban house in the quiet street full of near-identical muggle houses would never be given a second look by witches and wizards... unless they knew what details to look for. In a reversal of the normal muggle-repelling charms, the enchantment woven onto the small building and the surrounding garden had been altered to subtly repel the attention of magicals. There were no spells to block magical travel either, but rather one to knock out visitors that suddenly appeared within a couple hundred feet of the house. Even if one were a house-elf or had the help of a phoenix, they would fall into the trap unless specifically prepared for it... and only someone with very finely trained magical sense could pick it up. Unfortunately for the house's occupant, the unexpected visitor was one of the few in all of Britain who did.

The second line of defense were the dustbins. Wizarding homes usually had enchantments that announced visitors, unwelcome or otherwise, well in advance. Based off practical Divination or Arithmantic predictions paired with Revealing Charms, they could give a minute's warning or so before any sudden arrivals. With a minute's warning, any capable wizard could be a dangerous foe indeed. In this case however not one but five separate such enchantments had been applied to the dustbins around the house, ensuring that if one of them was somehow suborned or disabled the other four would still work. Since simultaneously disabling all five would require an equal number of wizards casting in perfect synchronization, and alarm spells were set to go off when even one was thus overcome, the only ways they could be bypassed were if an intruder's secrecy charms were more powerful than Alastor Moody's revealing spells, or if the intruder was something Alastor Moody had forgotten to cast revealing spells against.

Walking carefully towards the house under an extremely powerful Secrecy Charm layered with further Silencing and Invisibility enchantments, the intruder retrieved five pebbles and silently infused them with a powerful area Freezing Spell. That done, a carefully adjusted Banishing Charm sent one of them to each dustbin at the same time where their Freezing Spells would immobilize the dustbins' secondary and far more dangerous active defenses. Offensive Animation Jinxes would hurl rubbish at less dangerous intruders but anyone capable enough to breach the first lines of defense would find out that the rubbish were not really rubbish but vials full of dangerous potions or cursed items transfigured into rubbish to lull them into a false sense of security, returning to their true form a split second before they struck.

Having defeated the second line of defense through advanced knowledge and good spellwork, most intruders would have relaxed, only to fall in a Herbology trap that altered and concealed Devil's Snare as common grass. Charges of Peruvian Darkness Powder and liberally applied Flame-Freezing Charms would ensure most any intruder would lose precious time trying standard counters that would not work. The simplest way to overcome the trap was flight, so the current intruder used a broomstick brought specifically with that in mind.

Next came the house itself. Walls thicker than they appeared to be and constructed in multiple layers, with enchantments repeatedly strengthened over the decades the house had served as Alastor Moody's home, this passive defense would have held back Fiendyre for several minutes. The windows were not windows at all but walls pretending, and the actual entrance to the house was not the illusory front door but a blank piece of wall in the back. Even extremely powerful witches and wizards would have been delayed for a time... unless they knew that little secret. Sneaking into the back, the intruder did not attempt to open the concealed door, for that would have triggered several powerful blasting curses. A vial of strong Shrinking Solution was used instead, reducing the intruder to the height of a couple of inches, followed by a tiny space expansion charm that extended the gap between floor and door enough for the intruder to get inside.

Once there, the intruder cast a personal human-to-gnat transfiguration and waited. Moody had recently been forcibly retired from the Aurors, but while there were more powerful witches and wizards around, his mind was still as sharp and his wand as swift as most anyone's in Britain. Rather than dueling, the intruder chose patience and stealth; even Alastor Moody's magical eye would not notice a gnat further shrunk to less than a head of a pin by a potion and even the most famous ex-Auror had to sleep. Several hours later, the intruder was standing over a bound and disarmed Moody frantically trying to shake off the cobwebs of sleep, and retaliate.

"Good evening, old friend. I have a proposition for you."

"Damn it, Albus!" Alastor croaked. "Six bloody decades and you still beat me in my own game." His annoyed grumbling reminded Dumbledore of the little boy laying booby traps in his own dormitory all those years ago and then stubbornly refusing to take them down despite both Housemates and House Elves being caught by accident... because technically, they weren't against the rules. At least not until an amused Transfiguration Professor turned the tables on him. "OK, what do you want me to do now?"

 **xxxx**

When Fred and George Weasley spotted a dishevelled blonde girl in jeans and a t-shirt coming towards the Burrow with a confidence totally at odds with her average height and muggle attire, they sported identical smirks that pretty much everyone in wizarding Britain knew meant trouble. Eyes gleaming, fingers itching to try yet another prank, they turned as one towards their youngest brother.

"Oi Ron!" Fred called out.

"Yer girlfriend's here." George said.

"Shut up!" A crimson-faced Ron Weasley growled, dropping the garden gnome he'd been holding before it could bite his fingers and threateningly pointing his wand. "I've had enough of your jokes all month. One more word, just one, and you're dead. And then Mum will give me all your stuff, and congratulate me for upholding the family's honor, and it'll be great!"

"Hey there Ron, Fred, George." The girl in question said, coming through the front gate and vaulting over a stray chicken. "For future reference, when taking a girl's name in vain, or using her to annoy your litte brother, you might want to make sure she isn't in hearing range; girls don't always take such things lightly." She eyed the three redheads critically. "Given who you are, that might be halfway to London. The _Canadian_ London."

"D'you reckon that was a threat, George? Or a challenge?" George asked.

"Both, Fred." Fred answered. "Ickle lady snake is all grown up and thinks she can handle us."

"Do you?" They both asked Valeria in unison. Instead of answering, the girl gave them a smirk of her own, sauntered up to the taller, ganglier, but younger boy, and stood on the tips of her toes so she could whisper in his ear. Ron's expression brightened considerably even as his cheeks reddened and he brandished his fourteen-inch willow wand around the garden.

 _"Oppugno!"_

For a moment nothing happened, and the Twin Terrors relaxed. Then the Burrow's population of garden gnomes played a rendition of D-Day... with Fred and George in the role of Normandy. There were shouts, and flailing, and great loss of pants, and a laughing Ron led Valeria into the lopsided, magically supported Weasley home, his previous embarassment forgotten in the wake of his triumph.

"We'll get you for this, Campbell!" the Twins shouted, and Valeria resolved to double her standard checks for poisons and traps for her remaining years in Hogwarts.

"Having fun, kids?" The tall, aristocratic man with long, lustrous black hair and silver eyes suddenly appearing behind Molly Weasley's dinnertable sent Valeria scrambling for her wand. Ron didn't react beyond a long-suffering sigh.

"Don't mind Sirius, he's been jumping out from behind furniture since he got here morning before last." The tall redheaded boy said, taking opportunity of their stop in the kitchen to raid the pantry. "Right bloody menace... as bad as the Twins! Harry's thrilled though, so that's something."

"We can't have me being respectable now, can we?" The thirty-something man in the black dress robes, black leather boots, gloves, and belt, and understated but stylish silver jewelry said with a smile that reached his no longer sunken eyes.

"Lord Black?" Valeria asked uncertainly, even as Ron snickered and the man in question groaned. The differences between the young, fit, amazingly good-looking aristocrat before her and the haunted, dirty figure of skin, bones and tangled hair she'd met that night a few months ago were incredible. The only feature to remain unchanged was that pair of silver eyes, as cold and hard as any old soldier's or war refugee's she'd ever met in her mother's gatherings. Glimmers of humor and mischief brightened them every so often, only for the harshness of his unfair imprisonment in a literal hell on Earth to return between one eyeblink and the next.

"Not you too!" Sirius Black complained. "As far as I'm concerned 'Lord Black' was my grandfather; every time I hear that title applied to me I feel ridiculously, depressingly old. Just Sirius will do, thank you very much!" With a deft flick of his wand, he summoned several butterbeers and handed them out to the two of them. "Refreshments for the lady and her noble knight?"

"...'ass" Ron said with his mouth full and waving the tasty drink off, his showering Valeria with half-chewn crumbs only averted by her ever-present Shield Charm. After three years of ambushes from her Housemates, pranks from the twins, the antics of the Defense Professor, and occasional visits by wizard terrorists, she had to concentrate not to cast it instead of the other way around, much like Professor Dumbledore and Legilimency. Resisting the impulse to dangle Ron upside down and lecture him about good manners, she eagerly accepted Sirius' offer; her trip on the Knight Bus had been fun and informative, but exhausting.

"Thank you, Sirius." She said warmly, sipping the sweet, mildly alcoholic drink with the alchemically enhanced flavor. Twenty seconds later, her tongue started growing...

 **xxxx**

"...then she comes out, tongue three feet long and growing, and tries to hex us." George said for the hundredth time that evening, laughing, and his twin, Ginny, Charlie, and even Ron joined in. Mrs Weasley glared disapprovingly while her husband just smiled and shook his head at their children's antics. The only blonde in the sea of red did not react; she was deep into discussion with Bill and, surprisingly, Percy about runic enchantments and curse-breaking. She'd been too angry when Harry had come down earlier in the aftermath of the Ton-Tongue-Tonic fiasco, sparks flying off her hands at random intervals, and he'd decided to let her cool down first before approaching her.

"Go talk to her, Harry." Sirius nudged him once more when he saw who he was staring at.

"Talk to someone who captured the Rat and used him like a guinea pig for months when she's that angry?" Harry countered, smiling. "Are you trying to get me killed? Some godfather you are." For an adult, Sirius was awesome; even better than Professor Lupin had been. He didn't try to coddle Harry, or keep him in the dark for "his own good". Over the past day and a half since being discharged from St. Mungo's, he and Harry had talked nonstop about all the adventures and trouble of Harry's first three years on the magical world, and instead of being horrified at everything he and his friends had gotten up to, Sirius had been impressed and fondly approving. He'd even given him pointers about stealth, dueling, and avoiding Professorial interference (especially from Snape), as well as a crash-course on playing pranks and not getting caught (especially on Snape). August the twentieth, nineteen ninety-four had been the second-best day of Harry's entire life, right after Hagrid saving him from the Dursleys on his eleventh birthday.

"Trust me kiddo, I know all about girls." His godfather smirked. "They might be dangerous and aggressive like dragons, but also like dragons they can be calmed down if you know the right tricks. And unlike dragons, talking works on them too, not just adding various potions to their food." He laughed at Harry's reddening face. "Why if James had followed my advice, Lily wouldn't have kept hexing him for six years straight."

"Just... just stop..." That was one of two drawbacks of spending any amount of time with Sirius; the good-natured but totally embarassing ribbing about Harry being friends with several girls. The other, of course, being his skill in practical jokes exceeding that of the Twins.

"Where's your Gryffindor courage?" His godfather prodded once more. "After facing Voldemort as a first year you'd leave a helpless poor damsel in the hands of those two demons? I mean, it's not as if she's the best-looking lass in your little group." And at that he winked. Harry was confused; what did looks have to do with anything? None of his female friends were helpless or poor, much to Ron's and his chargin. And if the word 'damsel' came up in their presence... hey, maybe he could get Sirius to make that blunder. It ought to be good...

"Merlin, Harry." Sirius groaned when his godson didn't quite catch his not-so-subtle hint. "You're even more hopeless than James was."

 **xxxx**

"I hate you." Ginny groaned at her far too cheerful roommate as they both got up half an hour before dawn. The older girl had gotten out of bed without protest at Mum's urgent calls, and got ready in ten minutes flat - literally. Long blonde hair straight and shiny after only a few minutes' worth of spellwork, blue eyes far too bright and awake for Ginny's liking, face clean and done in understated colors and... wait!

"You can't use Color-Changing Charms for makeup!" She protested indignantly, seeing her do just that. "I mean..." she flushed "They aren't supposed to work!"

"Says who?" Ginny's number one enemy asked as she darkened her eyebrows and eyelashes to contrast with her hair and seem fuller.

"Says Professor McGonagal." Ginny huffed, crossing her arms under her breasts. At least there she had the older girl beat, if by a small margin. "That's what human transfiguration is for! I asked; coloring one's hair is a sixth-year lesson because our bodies naturally reject many weaker types of spells."

"True..." the other girl conceded, putting on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that immediately adjusted to fit her perfectly. Ginny smothered a growl; where had she found enchanted muggle-style clothing? Especially with a slogan like 'Too spicy for Yog-Sothoth' on it; was that the name of some foreign dark wizard or something? "Except that backed by enough emotion and will, even minor spells can have surprising results."

"That... that's the way you cast curses and dueling spells, not normal charms!" On the other hand, if it allowed her to eschew makeup in favor of reliable simple charms Ginny would try it before Ron could say 'Quidditch'.

"Magic is magic." Valeria proclaimed confidently, and why not? She had been Harry's friend for two years now, had followed him around for even longer, despite lack of any common interests. No love of Quidditch, far too bookish, too immoral if rumors were to be believed, interested in dark magic... how could Harry and Ron be close with her at all? At least Ginny was finally growing some curves, and not a moment too soon. Harry was bound to start noticing such things any day now.

Maybe... maybe Tom had been right; the great and famous Harry Potter had no interest in poor, helpless Ginny Weasley. Well then, perhaps Ginevra Weasley should stop being such a silly little girl and use the tools she had been given. For over a year now she'd been having the dreams, glimpses of one Tom Riddle's past life she'd told no-one about. Mum had been too stressed with all the bad things happening lately, and dad wouldn't know how to help; telling them that she dreamed of Riddle deceiving his teachers, or studying obscure magic, or hunting muggleborns wouldn't help anyone. If the Diary being destroyed had not freed her from those last hints of his presence, probably nothing would. And vile as the creep had been - she felt nauseous even _thinking_ about how the Diary had been created - he'd known a lot of impressive, not-evil magic as well. Thinking about impressing Harry, winning him over, banished all traces of nausea and horror Ginny felt about the foreign memories trapped inside her skull.

All was fair in love and war.


	5. A game of surprises

**This scene has been kicking my backside for days now. Had to rewrite it several times and I'm still not satisfied with how it turned out; relationships, politics and double-speak are hard to do from a teenager's point of view. The death eater attack and its aftermath will be up tommorow; action, subterfuge, and obscure magic are much more my speed.** ** **The issue with Ginny will become clear soon, especially her having memories of being possessed without ever touching the Diary.** Hopefully you guys and gals won't be too disappointed.**

 **Disclaimer: Did Lucius Malfoy gifting a murderous, mind-controlling, soul-eating artifact to a young girl have no more repercussions than his losing his position among the Hogwarts governors? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

For the first time in over twelve years, Sirius Black was truly happy. He was a free man, all but fully recovered from the physical effects of Azkaban thanks to the Healers' expertise in 's, was escorted by a potential girlfriend that had a sense of humor and was the twin of a famous Holhead Harpies player and a decade his younger, and would soon be supporting Ireland in the Quidditch World Cup along with Harry and his friends. Even the little imperfections in this scene of bliss could not detract from his joy... much.

Harry himself was one of those. Not his godson's character and choices of course; Sirius' chest filled with pride at Harry's accomplishments, bravery, opposition to the Dark, and rulebreaking over the past few years. No, it was his godson's appearance that enraged him; nearly half a foot shorter and a good twenty pounds lighter than James had been at his age, as well as a great deal paler. Not even his own despicable mother had starved him as a child. The Dursleys had not abused their nephew - they had tried to ruin him for life. They were lucky their house had "inexplicably" burned down and they had relocated, or Sirius would have added some real murder charges to his tally.

"Stop brooding you old dog, we're here already." Hestia said, knocking him out of his funk with a punch to the ribs. Blinking, he stared at the throngs of partying witches and wizards around their little group. The younger Weasley boy - Ronald? - was staring at everyone and everything along with Harry, throwing in the occasional joke. Fred and George were whispering in hushed tones, probably planning another prank. His smile returned at their brief prank war back in the Weasleys' gloriously messy home that Sirius had won. The two of them had yet to discover the magically glowing letters spelling their names on their foreheads, visible to anyone but themselves; he couldn't wait to see their expressions when they did. The girls were being boring and responsible, helping Arthur with the change, the magical tents, and the cooking.

"You still don't believe it's happening, do you?" The even more annoying young woman on his side said waspishly.

"Umm, what?" When in doubt and facing angry girls, run; Lily had taught him as much through practical demonstration. If you can't, play dumb. It probably wouldn't fool them but was better than the alternative.

"That you're free. That you deserve to be happy. That Harry doesn't blame you for anything." She stared at him accusingly; she certainly still blamed him for quite a few things. "Stop merely telling yourself those things and believe them, or I'll kick your sorry, aristocratic arse... again." No idle threat that; all those years in Azkaban had made him rusty, and Hestia Jones was probably the best trainee in the Hitwizard program. Hopeless in investigation or common sense, which was why she had not become an Auror instead, but could thrown some mean curses any time.

"Whatever you say, luv." He agreed sagely, and was rewarded with another punch.

"More a case of pity, and unfairly cute puppy-dog eyes." She grumbled. "I'm curious. What were you brooding about this time?"

"Harry's love life, or lack thereof if you really want to know." He fibbed. "What fourteen-year-old doesn't spare a look for the girls? Especially James' son!" He gave a long-suffering but hopefully not obviously false sigh. "James went after Lily from the first time he laid eyes on her, and never gave up. He'd be rolling in his grave now." Even thinking about that would have been depressing, if not for the regimen of Cheering potions and charms he was still on, the other reason Hestia had come with him to the World Cup.

"I take it you only really talked with Harry yesterday, what with being confined to St. Mungo's?" She asked, a smile he did not trust suddenly appearing on her face. "Right. Well, Sirius, who would you have your godson choose?" She surreptitiously pointed at the Campbell girl. "Target A is blonde, fairly good looking, not above helping with the chores, and friendly enough. She's also been muttering under her breath nonstop since before we arrived, is a muggleborn thriving in Slytherin by stepping on anyone in her way from what I heard, and probably loves her curses more than boys." Smile turning into a smirk, Hestia pointed at the only Weasley girl. "Target B is a redhead, will be stunning in a few years, is a good student and loves Quidditch. She's also only thirteen, short-tempered, also loves her curses, and has been practically stalking your godson every time I looked at her."

Sirius was saved from having to answer, and suffering the commentary that would follow no matter what opinion he voiced by the arrival of a middle-aged, blond, blue-eyed man in a striped, yellow Quidditch uniform, followed by one man, one woman, and three young girls in expertly cut and tailored black suits or dresses. He was certain he recognized the bumbling blond fool; even the Dementors had not managed to make him forget as strange a character as Ludo Bagman. The Pureblood family that followed him was unknown to him, the harsh middle-aged man in the intimidating black trenchcoat quite a bit older than either Sirius or Bagman, while the silver-haired, willowy, aristocratically elegant woman rocking her tight-fitting dress for all she was worth must have been four or five years his jun...

"OW, stop that!" He gasped as something hard dug into his ribs while Arthur Weasley was eyeing the non-Bagman newcomers curiously and with just a hint of wariness.

"I'm saving you from mortal embarassment." Hestia said sweetly, shamelessly elbowing him again when his gaze drifted towards the woman. Wincing, she shifted his gaze to what must be her children; three girls of about Harry's age. One of them was a mousy brunette nearly as short as the Campbell girl, trailing at the rear of the group and watching everything critically, smirking every so often at some joke only she could hear. The other two looked very much alike, despite a diffierence of a couple of years in their ages. Tall for their age, willowy, and striking as their mother, even if the younger girl had chosen to dye her hair a garish black.

"I'm a Black; we're too serious to be embarassed." He replied to his pseudo-date.

"Shameless more like." Hestia retorted expertly; he'd taught her well. "Lady Greengrass has been married for over a decade and a half now and you were ogling her before her husband and underage daughters."

"Well, seeing is believing. And those rumors about her were quite hard to believe you know? Besides, take a look at Harry." His godson now had hints of red in his cheeks and his eyes shifted from the ground to the tallest and blondest of the three younger girls and back. The smirk blossoming on Lord Black's face at that moment could be described as nothing less than pure evil.

 **xxxx**

"Stop muttering under your breath!" Daphne hissed at her annoying muggleborn second-best friend as the Greengrasses, the Weasleys, and their guests made the long trek up a twenty-story staircase to their seats. Whoever had designed this stupid stadium must have been a wizard; it showed no respect or accommodation for the basic needs of witches whatsoever. She'd dressed to impress and after several hundred steep steps the dress chafed, her heels were murdering her legs, and bloody Potter had been avoiding her for the past hour, choosing to spend his time chatting with the Terror Twins and Bagman. Therefore, Daphne's waspishness was fully justified and whoever said otherwise would be Banished all the way down the staircase. "People will think you're insane, for Merlin's sake."

"Oh no." Tracey giggled from her left. "I think that ship has long since sailed, Daph."

"For your information, I was casting detection spells." Valeria said, glaring under the brim of her casual black witch's hat, the only wizardly or decent item in her attire, her left hand still in her pocket where her wand was hidden. She'd actually come in muggle jeans and t-shirt, even though she'd known Daphne's parents would be using this day to take her measure... to say nothing of all the dignitaries they were bound to meet in the new Minister's vicinity.

"Breaking the law, are we?" Daphne accused, Tracey snorting in amusement. Then again, her oldest friend had always liked watching discord and chaos unfold; she was as likely to stop Campbell's casual disregard for the rules as the Dark Lord was to come to the World Cup. "What's so interesting about a Quidditch game you decided you had to personally examine it?"

"The spells used in the stadium's construction, the magical security measures, whether there are any invisible Death Eaters around about to blast off our faces." The shorter blonde shrugged. "You know, the usual. By the way, nick Harry's wand and poke him in the ear, will you? The way it's hanging loosely from his pocket is practically asking for trouble."

"Hey!" Ron shouted when Daphne poked him with Harry's wand, making him jump. A brief argument followed and the Weasley boys distanced themselves from the trio of Slytherin girls, Harry's apologetic looks balancing out Ron's malevolent stares. Daphne fell into step with her other two friends, firmly blocking the width of the stairs to a certain young female redhead's advance.

"Nice." Valeria commented, still casting spells under her breath between sentences. "When do you think Harry will really notice? Ten galleons on fifth year."

"You're on." Tracey piped in, the traitor. "I see your ten and put in another ten for Christmas."

"I'm going to murder you horribly and mutilate your remains." She growled at the two gossipping bints. The two of them giggled conspiratorially, and Azkaban would have gained another inmate if not for the long ascent being finally over. Daphne's parents finished their official introductions to the Weasley patriarch and Lord Black, only to approach their group.

"Good evening, children." Daphne's mother greeted them formally as the Weasley girl practically glued herself to Harry' side, elbowing Daphne in passing.

"Good evening, Lady Greengrass." Tracey and Valeria responded just as formally. They were the only ones who did. Harry was staring uncertainly at her admittedly intimidating parents, Ron probably had no idea how to respond, the Weasley girl curtsied briefly but remained silent, and Astoria ignored everything in favor of running around with boundless energy and wildly commenting on anything even mildly surprising. Her mother smiled; the displayed emotion didn't quite reach her calculating eyes.

"It is good to see our eldest has made a few friends. Daphne has always been too quiet and distant for her own good."

"Mother! You're embarrassing me before all of my friends!" Token protests had their uses, and Daphne did not mind acting the dutiful but occasionally rebellious daughter. Harry and the Weasleys smiled at her family's antics, getting more at ease with the Greengrasses' presence. Tracey, Valeria, and Lord Black remained unaffected, while Lord Black's once-kidnapped victim and potential current mistress seemed a bit confused. No mental giant, Hestia Jones, but good looking enough, Daphne supposed.

"Hush, child." Selene Greengrass waved her protests away as if they were of no consequence... which, naturally, they weren't. "There are quite a few questions I still need to ask of these fine young gentlemen here, and of your newest female friend. Why don't you keep the youngest Weasley scion some company while your father and I finish here?"

So Mother had noticed, too. Not that Daphne had expected anything else. Why, oh why couldn't they have convinced Augusta Longbottom to let Neville come? He'd have been a far more likable companion than the jealous bundle of energy that was the Weasley girl and being a pureblood from an Ancient House, Daphne's parents had long since vetted him.

Having been dismissed from the interrogation session, Daphne resigned herself to watching various silly pre-match advertisements while being a target of the Weasley Twins' dubious sense of humor and Ginny Weasley's searing glares.

 **xxxx**

"How are your studies progressing?"

"Bertrand the Pensees-Profondes thoughts on the reintegration of essence and matter are flawed. Reversal is not the final goal, but rebirth."

"The Death Eaters' attack on Hogsmeade must have been scary. Did you really help the Aurors?"

"Educational and enlightening, more than anything. As for helping, all credit should go to Harry. He guided dozens of enlarged summoned snakes into a relief effort."

"Learning about the Wizarding World must have come as a shock. How did you adapt to the differences between the two?"

"Well enough. The differences are not as jarring to someone well-versed in muggle fiction and mythology, and my brother is obsessed with it; I had to learn some of it as self-defense. At least now I know what a popular writer in the fifties referred to when he talked about rings endowed with the essence of their creator that had a will of their own, could extend life, control others, and could only be destroyed when thrown into cursed fire."

"For Merlin's sake, Val." Ron whispered during a brief break in the questioning. "I doubt Daphne's mum wants to hear about everything you've ever read, so stop pestering her!"

"You're just jealous she's prejudiced in favor of Slytherins." The muggleborn menace said, sticking out her tongue at him. "Maybe if you stopped staring at her gobsmacked and started sounding more intelligent..." She suggested sweetly, then cackled and ran to where Daphne and Tracey were whispering and giggling to each other, leaving the boys to face the worst danger they'd ever been in on their own.

"At least it's over." Harry said, falling heavily on the seat in Ron's right. "I can't wait for the match to begin; politics are exhausting."

"What are you complaining, mate?" Ron complained. "She gave you a once-over, nodded approvingly and left you all alone while she grilled me and the Twins. Even their bet with Bagman did not cheer them up after that."

"How are you doing, gentlemen?" The tall, grizzled man in the very expensive black suit said. Daphne's dad was not nearly as gut-wrenchingly intimidating as her mother, Harry mused... or as mouth-wateringly striking. And with Sirius following him closely and winking at him and Ron, he didn't think they were in trouble.

"Just waiting for the game to start, sir." Harry said and the older wizard gave him a knowing smile.

"So my wife was her usual overbearing self." He gave them a brief but genuine laughter at their uneasy expressions, then took two pairs of small binoculars out of his neat leather belt with the multiple magically-extended pockets. "Here. With Selene practically abducting you until recently, you missed some of the more useful merchandise. These are..."

"Omnioculars!" Harry exclaimed in surprise, eagerly testing the pair he was given to confirm it. "Those would be awesome in a game, eh Ron?"

"You know what they are?" Both Daphne's dad and Sirius asked at the same time, then stared at each other.

"Yeah, Valeria had a pair last year, used it for all kinds of stuff."

"Shrunk them and put them on a rat, once." Ron added, laughing in memory. "Spelled the rat to attack Parkinson and Malfoy, and recorded the event for us."

"Indeed?" Instead of being indignant at another Pureblood Slytherin family's expense as Harry had half-expected, the older wizard seemed almost as interested in that prank as the Twins had been. "Something to check on later." He mused, rubbing his bearded chin. "But now I'm supposed to be interrogating you, or Selene will have my hide." They all laughed at that, his godfather first of all.

"So, Mister Potter. My daughter tells me you're a decent duelist." Behind the older wizard Harry saw Sirius suddenly staring at him intently and minutely shaking his head.

"We practice a lot, but decent?" Better follow Sirius advice even if he didn't know why his godfather would ask him that. "I don't think we are. I mean, any fight we've ever had with an older witch or wizard we either lost horribly or were interrupted by someone or something."

"Honest and modest, Mister Potter?" For the first time the grizzled old wizard, seemingly far more approachable and down-to-Earth than his noble wife, nodded solemnly and, Harry thought, genuinely. "Not a bad combination. But if I know my eldest, getting a compliment out of her is like pulling teeth, muggle-style. If you or your friends ever have time during the holidays, I could give you a few pointers in Dueling." Shaking both his and Ron's hand once, he joined his wife, their Inquisition finally over.

"You did good, kiddo." Sirius said, ruffling Harry's unruly hair playfully. "The Greengrasses are a lot more dangerous than they look."

"Yeah, no question where Daphne got her glare of doom from." Ron added, glancing at where the three girls had retreated and shuddering.

"Or her looks." Harry's godfather said shamelessly, only too happy to see both their faces turning crimson. "But enough of girls and other inconsequential matters; it's time for Quidditch. And Quidditch is serious business!"

"You bet!" Ron agreed, while Harry smiled at his godfather's joke. The funny, aristocratic-looking man before him was a far cry from the emaciated escaped prisoner they'd met months ago. Hopefully his health issues had been fixed or soon would be and then... then Harry could live with family for the first time in his life.

"...and we're even at the Top Box!" Ron finished his Quidditch-related tirade at the top of his voice.

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasel." A very unwelcome, nasal voice said from behind them. Harry and Ron turned around, knowing who they'd see. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy had just entered the Top Box in the company of a tall, long-haired, blonde woman a few years older than Sirius and very aristocratic and good looking, if not quite in Selene Greengrass' league.

"Ah, Lady Malfoy!" Sirius greeted Draco's mother in a pleasantly surprised tone, and Harry could not tell if it was genuine. A bit of the lifeless look of Azkaban returned to his godfather's pale grey eyes and the regal Lady Malfoy froze upon meeting his stare... how odd.

"Lord Black." She inclined her head, while her son directed a sneer at Ron and Harry from behind her back. "I did not expect to see you here on your own. Where is your... lady friend? Will she be joining us?"

"Yes, unexpected. Your Lord husband is absent as well, is he not?" Sirius tilted his head, but remained largely expressionless. "Curious. He rather enjoys Quidditch, as I recall."

"Lord Malfoy is having a meeting with the new Minister." Draco's mother announced, rather glumly in Harry's opinion.

"Is he? Good for him." Sirius was smirking now and Harry could see both Narcissa and Draco getting angrier.

"House Malfoy remains prestigious and well-connected." Draco's mother said to Sirius. "Others should do well to follow their example."

"She's right, Lord Black." Daphne said cheerfully as the trio of Slytherin girls finally joined Harry and Ron. "Why, they're always branching out. Lord Malfoy even begun a new tradition of giving gifts to Muggle-born and Muggle-raised students lately."

"What?" Draco spat angrily "Why you little slandering..."

"That's enough, Draco." Narcissa Malfoy said, pulling her son back and fixing Daphne with an intense stare. "I am not aware of any such tradition, and if one existed I would know it, I assure you. Baseless accusations make for weak, highly dangerous stratagems, Scion Greengrass."

"Oh, I did not mean it as such." Daphne dismissed the implied threat. "I just thought to remind Lord Malfoy not to give over anything he could ill-afford to lose to those he believes beneath him."

Both Draco and his mother retreated then, staring daggers at both Sirius and the Greengrasses. Harry's godfather turned to the three girls, right eyebrow rising in question. "What was that about?"

"Oh it's a funny story, Mister Black." Tracey said with a smirk. "Lucius Malfoy got involved in the Chamber of Secrets incident two years ago - pretty much caused it. We managed to uncover his involvement and Harry here pretty much blackmailed him into handing over a House Elf. Narcissa Malfoy now has to do at least some housework on her own." The mousy brunette smiled at both Harry and Daphne. "Val reminded us of that fact just now, and I managed to convince Daphne to send the Malfoys packing with all the pomp and circumstance her mother taught her."

They were still laughing at that when Bagman finally announced the team mascots.


	6. Memories and Visions

**Decided to make chapters 6 and 7 into a single chapter due to the common theme. Word of warning: there's lots of blood, violence, and ugly situations ahead. Also, a rather important revelation I'd been setting up for... wow, has it been four months already? Hopefully there were enough hints in both this and the previous book so that it doesn't come as a total surprise.**

 **Disclaimer: Were the Death Eaters at the World Cup able to Apparate away when both the Ministry wizards trying to get close to them and the families attempting to flee had to do so on foot? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **xxxx**

The young couple walking up the hill overlooking the village would have drawn its fair share of incredulous stares due to their unusual attire alone, let alone marching through the village at such an ungodly late hour of the night. The woman, a tall, striking blonde in her mid-twenties wearing form-fitting blouse and jeans, hiking boots and a long, silvery cloak draped over her shoulders appeared to be the leader of the pair despite her age. The man, a middle-aged, distinguished-looking gentleman with short-cropped silvery hair, a neatly trimmed moustache with not a hair out of place, and a black, tailored, banker's suit complete with leather loafers, followed docilely in the young woman's wake, occasionally arguing but never taking the lead. Perhaps the cloth bundle the young woman was carrying had something to do with it, observers might think; young mothers could often pass for large, angry tigers if their offspring were threatened.

"I'm just saying we should teach them a lesson." The old man grumbled as their slow ascent got them closer and closer to the ancient-looking, dilapidated manor house at the top of the hill. "Twelve years and not one of them bothered to look." He said through gritted teeth, remaining silent only as the young woman stopped before the locked, rusty, overgrown iron gate that barred their way into the manor proper.

"Shut up, Junior." The blonde said to the older gentleman as she carefully, almost lovingly, shifted the bundle in her arms so she could reach for something in her pocket, most probably the ancient manor's key. "What are you, five? Their treachery will be punished in time, but if you keep whining about it, you'll be short a tongue. And two eyes. And two ears. And maybe a couple of teeth..." Obviously excited at the prospect, she lazily waved the long, thin, dark object she'd drawn from her pocket and the heavy, wrought-iron gate shuddered and groaned. It didn't open though. "Morgana's tits, it's so rusty it's stuck. Well, we'll have to risk a bit more magic for now." She more carefully flicked the thin black... wand she'd been holding, and the gate seemed to fade a bit, as if seen through thick mist... or as if it was made of mist itself. "Age before beauty, Junior." She cackled, letting the grumbling older man walk through the smoke-like bars ahead of her.

"Amusing as it is to see the boy so expertly cowed," a new, high-pitched, frighteningly cold and inhuman voice hissed through the darkness "antagonizing him will only make him resentful. I have few loyal followers as it is, Bella. Having you at each other's throats now would be... counterproductive."

"As you wish, my Lord." The young woman said solemnly over the bundle she carried. "Do you still intend to send him out, then?" Striding through the faded gate, she followed the older man towards what had once been the largest and grandest building for miles around, now little more than a boarded-up, ivy-covered ruin.

"Is that disappointment I hear in your voice, dear Bella?" The high-piched voice hissed again, mild amusement still discernible despite the inhumanity of its tone. "Tired of taking care of me so soon?"

"Never, my Lord!" The blonde woman said to the bundle in her hands, her face a mask of horror and incredulity. "I am your most loyal, most devoted servant!"

"Loyalty is only one of the qualities I most value." The far-too-eloquent infant countered. "Much as you crave to again perform great and terrible deeds in my name, your current task is more important. Without your expertise and forbearance, I would have regained much less of what I once was." At those words, the woman lowered her head in shame. Her beloved lord, reduced to an even weaker form just because she craved action? She would never live it down if He had to rely on some worthless wizard with only the bare minimum skill in the Dark Arts to keep him alive, if she failed to do all she could to ensure he returned greater and more powerful than ever before.

"Look what I found!" Their older companion called out from within the ruined house as Bella and her infant Lord reached the half-broken back door, its wood rotten and barely hanging from rusty hinges. The middle-aged banker crowed with obvious glee as he came closer in the near-darkness, a much older man floating bound and gagged over his shoulder. "This Muggle filth tried to run me out of the house, in its pathetic, decrepit way."

"And you obviously took exception." Bella said, shaking her head. "Your eagerness... does you credit." She complimented her apparently older companion, her Lord's wise advice fresh in her head. "We could use him, I suppose. It's almost time."

"Can I watch?" Junior asked, almost jumping in anticipation. "Ritual magic is... glorious!"

The blonde did not get a chance to reply; at that moment her body begun to shift, flex, almost melt away, flowing into a very different form as the magic that had allowed her to borrow another's form reached its end. What was left behind was taller than the blonde girl, less athletic, curvier, and paler. An angular face with features hovering between beautiful and cruel, large lavender eyes burning with both power and almost childlike immorality, lips pressed into a thin angry line at her partner's request. Mindful of her Lord's wishes, she did not deny it... but was careful not to show the full extent of her fury at his presumption. He wanted to watch, did he? Glorious indeed!

"Bring the ingredients." She hissed almost as coldly as her Lord had, walking deeper into the gloom. The house was ruined, damp, derelict, and dusty. Vermin crawled at every corner, spiderwebs stuck to them as they walked through archways and corridors, filth from nearly a decade of neglect. What incompetent caretaker was responsible for the state of her Lord's ancestral home? Junior's games with his blood-traitor of a father would be a pleasant passtime compared to what she'd do to them if they fell in her hands. In the end, she found a living room in the second floor with adequate space and in a good enough state for what she had in mind. A flick of her wand banished the thick, rotting, moss-covered carpet aside to reveal old but still intact wooden floor. A second flick lit roaring flames in the large fireplace taking up most of the room's north side; the task would be unpleasant enough without all the cold and moisture making her job harder. By the time she was done, Junior had already unbound the main ingredient, and stuck it spread-eagled on the floor, a rough circle carved upon the floorboards around it. Bella crossed into the circle, her precious bundle with her.

"What are you doing?" Junior asked, genuinely curious, as she straddled the old muggle choking in his own terror and filth.

"Life transference requires intimate knowledge of the victim." Bella said, sticking the muggle's eyes open. "It also requires absolute trust to begin with, but not to complete. Since this is little more than an animal, both can be manufactured." And with that, she delved into the old Muggle's weak mind with Legilimency. Without magic to back up his will, it was about as difficult as reading an open book, tedious only due to the magnitude of her task. Finding a simple secret would have taken a brief exertion of will; seeing the secrets of a lifetime took an hour-long attempt that left her sweaty and near-exhaustion even against a weak old man. Mutilating the man's memories so Bella's image replaced that of his long-gone mother in his mind... that took even longer... but in the end, she succeeded.

"Greetings, my child." She said sweetly to the dazed and confused old man. "It is almost over, Frank. Will you do one last think for dear mummy?" She cooed, using magic to ease his pain and vanish his now inexplicable to him fear. "One little thing, and then no more aching old wounds. No more angry, accusing neighbors. No old failures and deaths haunting you. You will be with mummy." For this to work, trust could not be coerced, forced or deceived. Her words had to be the truth, and the old man had to trust of his own free will. That his most painful secrets had just been stolen, that his faded childhood memory of his mother had been replaced... that did not matter as long as he chose to trust. Life wasn't fair - why would Dark Magic be?

In the end, Frank Bryce made his deluded choice like so many other blind sheep. He'd lasted far longer than the young boy in the Balkans that had been Bella's first victim, and would give so much more in return for that deeper sacrifice. As he closed his eyes and smiled in acceptance, a flick of Bella's wand ripped out his heart. Blood gushed everywhere as, much like a vampire, she drank directly from the torn off organ, taking the man's essence into herself as his body died. Like once before, her body all but sang at the added life, shaking painfully at the overflow of power from the all but willing human sacrifice. It felt so good that she was tempted to keep it all to herself, tempted more by this than any other magic she'd ever performed. Her Lord had cautioned her though; much as two souls could not drink from the same life-force without the body shriveling away, one soul could not handle more than one life-force without the danger of the body burning up. So with great reluctance, she moved to the final part of the ritual, only her devotion to her Lord convincing her to continue.

Junior watched on as Bella unwrapped the bundle as the dead muggle's corpse slowly oozed blood. From within its folds she retrieved an infant unlike any other, their great Lord reborn in the flesh. Their Lord had been reincarnated too frail to survive, a dismal piece of meat so twisted and revolting that lesser men would not dare approach - but no longer. Grudgingly, Junior admitted a less skilled Death Eater than Bella could not have managed to give him as much of his powers and health back. Even more grudgingly, and only in his mind, he knew that nobody else would have offered what this next step required. All true Dark Magic had a moral component. The Killing Curse required simple hate. The basic reincarnation ritual required destruction of innocence - of either an unborn child or a unicorn - to make the Homunculous his Lord's soul now inhabited. Junior smirked as Bellatrix's bloody blouse was discarded and she raised his infant Lord to her breast. Mockery of motherhood to strengthen a child that should not be demanded pain akin to the Cruciatus. The stupid bint saw her sacrifice as a gift but she could not see the disgust evident in his Lord's misshapen face; the Dark Lord hated the need to rely on others, even his most faithful. Whatever the bitch might expect for her service, whatever her temporary gains from the ritual, Junior knew a painful death was her only future.

Hundreds of miles away, in a tent in the woods, a boy sat bolt upright as he was finally released from the vision. And then he messily lost his past several meals.

 **xxxx**

Harry Potter was not a happy camper. The last vestiges of happiness from the World Cup were utterly destroyed by the horror and guilt of his latest nightmare. He would have liked to believe that was all it had been; a bad dream. Unfortunately, his burning scar suggested otherwise. The last remnant of the first and worst of Voldemort's attempts to kill him, the lightning-bolt-shaped mark on his forehead had warned him in the past when Voldemort was nearby, or was about to do something sufficiently evil. And there was no question about the evil he'd seen in his dream.

Desperate for something, anything, else to think about, he searched for his glasses and wand. The once muggle perscription spectacles had been enchanted during his latest stay with the Weasleys, and one of the three spells cast upon them was one that allowed him to see in the dark. The comfort that small thing gave him after the near-darkness of that old manor house and the things that had happened deep in its gloom... should he wake Ron, Sirius, one of the others? No, no, best not to dwell on the dream at all than share both his fear... and his guilt.

What the hell was wrong with him? How could that horrible, horrible ritual that mad Death Eater had carried out cause him anything but the deepest revulsion and hate? But maybe, maybe his nightmare had not been real. He'd had nightmares about Death Eaters, and murder, and evil magic plenty of times in the past. Voldemort too. Maybe it was just a dream, caused by this new, strange, horrible embarassment he felt every time one of the girls was near, Sirius' and the Twins' constant teasing over the past few days, and his first meeting with Daphne's rather frightening parents. At least he hoped that's what it was. He really did not want his vision to be true, and for more than Voldemort now having the form of some twisted, ugly infant. Because if either Sirius or the girls ever heard about his seeing a Death Eater's breasts in his dreams, forget about Voldemort's Killing Curse; they'd murder him in far worse, terminally humiliating ways.

"Boys, get up now!" Mister Weasley's voice jolted Harry from his fearful contemplation on whether he should share his dream with anybody else. Over the distant sounds of the Irish still celebrating their narrow but deserved victory, the Weasley Patriarch scrambled into the tent, wand in hand.

"Just... a bit... longer..." Ron sleepily mumbled, still mostly in dreamland despite his father's urgent command and the celebrations of the Irish growing louder and louder.

"No time, Ronald!" Mister Weasley said, brandishing his wand like a hose and drenching both his son and Harry with freezing water. "I'm sorry..." he said at Ron's angry gasps "But I need you awake right now. The camp is under attack."

"What?" Harry jumped up and frantically searched for his clothes, ignoring the water. Now that he thought more clearly, he could tell that the distant sounds were not so much drunk celebrations as they were loud bangs and frightened screams. In under a minute, he had his sneakers, jeans, and robe on and was already outside along with the remaining Weasleys. His Godfather and miss Jones were there as well, their expressions grim.

"Listen to me, pup." He said seriously, without a hint of joking. "Death Eaters are attacking. I want you, Ron, Ginny and the Twins to get as far from here as you can through the woods. Don't stop for anything, and stay away from anyone in a mask."

"But..."

"No buts. This is not like the skirmish last year. They're here in force - nearly two dozen of them." He patted Harry's back reassuringly when Harry's eyes went wide at the numbers. "The older Weasleys, Hestia and I are going to help the Ministry; Amelia's aurors are still at half-strength and if anyone like the guy who fought Dumbledore last year is there they'll need all the help they can get. But you cannot be there."

"Sirius, I..." Should he tell him about his dream? Was that weird -and evil, definitely evil- ritual why the Death Eaters were attacking now? Was Voldemort helping them, guiding them?

"No time, pup." His Godfather admonished as more screams and the sound of several explosions came from a few rows of tents over. "Go with Ron and Ginny now. And whatever you do, don't get separated."

His mind still plagued with doubts and nightmarish visions, Harry ran.

 **xxxx**

"A hundred thousand wizards running like headless chickens, frightened by a mere two dozen." Valeria shook her head, supremely annoyed at the whole situation. The lych-house dining idiots had interrupted hers, Daphne's and Tracey's beauty sleep; heads would roll for this.

"Your assessment is faulty, young lady." Lord Greengrass admonished with a hint of disappointment. "Of those hundred thousand witches and wizards, a good percentage is wealthy foreigners that actually agree with the skull-faced delinquents. Another portion could care less about politics, and the majority care for nobody but themselves." A wordless flick of Lady Selene's wand had the Greengrasse's twelve-bedroom magical tent fully packed and returned to her pocke, while her husband added several layers of protective charms on both the elder Greengrasses and the three girls.

"Where is Astoria?" Daphne said, taking point of their little formation at her father's side.

"She wanted to spend some time with the Malfoy boy." Her mother replied from her position in the rear of the group. "Her little tantrum was becoming annoying so I Portkeyed her back to the tower when you went to sleep."

"Aren't unauthorized Portkeys highly illegal?" Tracey asked with a huge yawn, stumbling next to Valeria in the middle of the formation.

"They're also undetectable." The shorter blonde girl said with more than a bit of envy. From her research she'd gathered that very few witches and wizards were capable enough in Charms to create even single-use, national Portkeys. Daphne was lucky to have both parents be so capable in magic and... wait, was she jealous of her friend's family? Where did that come from? "Are we leaving via Portkey then?"

"We'll Apparate." Lord Greengrass countered. A man of few words when action would do, he grabbed both Valeria and Tracey by one arm, while his wife embraced Daphne securely. A split-second later all of them seemed to twist in place and they felt an enormous pressure applied all over their bodies as if they were trying to crawl through a pipe far too small for them. And then the unsettling sensation was over and the three girls found themselves in exactly the same spots as before, while Lord and Lady Greengrass collapsed where they stood.

"Mother!" Daphne shouted and started casting basic diagnostic charms over an unresponsive Selene Greengrass, the older woman's eyes open and unseeing. The other two girls struggled not to collapse under Lord Greengrass' dead weight, lowering him to the ground carefully to avoid further injury.

"She's alive!" Daphne shouted with relief, then scowled murderously. "But she's not responding at all and I have no idea what happened!"

"Hmm... perhaps..." Valeria mused, staring at the surrounding area carefully. It was possible, but who...

"Talk!" Daphne growled, her wand spitting sparks. "NOW!"

"Anti-Disapparition Jinx." The shorter blonde Slytherin suggested. "Normally it merely prevents Disapparition but if it went up exactly as they tried to Apparate, and with them trying to carry us along... certainly this attempted jump felt worse, somehow."

"Don't be absurd!" The taller blonde said in a shrilly voice, pointing her wand left and right as if she expected to be attacked at any moment. "The Ministry wouldn't do anything to jeopardize foreign wizards in an international event!"

"No, but the Death Eaters might." Tracey said darkly, fingering her own wand. "What if someone knew where we would be? How your parents would react to a Death Eater attack? What if that someone had a history of... arranging accidents and traps?" The other two girls stared at Tracey for a few seconds. When Daphne spoke, her voice was colder than any other Valeria had ever heard - and that included a teenage Tom Riddle.

"Lord Davis is a dead man." She vowed. Without another word, she transfigured stretchers out of a few stones, levitated her parents into them and grunted with the mental effort to lift both while maintaining her Shield Charm and the unusual, temporary transfiguration.

"There's no way we can safely transport them like this." Valeria said with a wince as the explosions from the Death Eaters and those who'd joined them came closer. Searching into the small stash of potions she always took with her if she could arrange it, she found the vial with the bright-green potion she'd been looking for. "Seven drops each. It's perfectly safe." She said when she saw Daphne's aggressively demanding scowl. "It's a second-year potion; even you wouldn't botch, it Daphne."

The pureblood girl's less than stellar performance in Potions was well-known in Slytherin House, but so was Valeria's skill with them. After the Greengrasses were fed a small dose of Shrinking Solution and became palm-sized, Daphne carefully, lovingly wrapped them up in her pro-Ireland scarf and placed them in the security of her magically expanded purse. With only moments to spare, the girls lost themselves in the woods to avoid the incoming Death Eaters.

 **xxxx**

"Having fun, Greengrass, Davis, mudblood?" Draco Malfoy asked the three girls running towards his hangout in the woods. He certainly was, after all.

"Shut up, you gormless berk." The Greengrass girl growled as her dress and hair caught up in the tangled undergrowth and she stumbled. She'd ran in her nightgown and Draco could appreciate the glimpses he got under the filmsy cloth even as he lamented the waste of another ancient pureblood line. Running with mudbloods and half-blooded blood-traitors of all things!

"Angry, are we?" He said with a smirk. Finally - finally! - the stupid bint was getting what she deserved. "Why, Greengrass, if something happened are you sure it wasn't your fault?" He laughed as the distraught girl tried to curse him but was held back by her fellows.

"The small-minded idiot isn't worth it, Daph." The Davis girl whispered to her friend, but not silently enough for Draco not to hear.

"Really, Davis?" He shook his head and smiled again. "That's exactly what the Weasel said when he and Potter came through here five minutes ago. Talk about a case of small minds thinking alike."

"You are rather brave for someone alone in the woods, Malfoy." The mudblood growled to him like the bitch she was and he laughed; he couldn't help it.

"I don't need to worry about anything, mudblood." He fixed the image of Greengrass in her smallclothes in his mind and forced his smirk to become suggestive despite looking at a jumped-up animal. "If you want to see whether that applies to you as well, why don't you hang around for a minute?"

"Excuse me?" Ah, excellent; the bint didn't have a ready answer for once and Draco was happy to provide it.

"They're hunting for muggles, if you didn't notice." He looked the rather plain blonde up and down critically. "You are of animal stock, are you not? They're coming here soon, and it's proving to be a great party."

"Let's go." Davis pleaded with the other two girls, trying to drag them away. At least she had a bit of common sense. She must know that at least one of her uncles was with Draco's Father now, and if he caught her in the woods... Draco licked his lips in anticipation, hoping the bitches would be stupid enough to linger. Unfortunately, they weren't; not a minute later they'd vanished into the woods like that coward Weasel, his brat of a sister, and Potter.

Oh well, one couldn't have everything in life and so far it had been a great end to a great day... maybe even the best in Draco's life. But maybe... maybe he should send a message... guide his Father and his friends to the mudblood, the blood-traitors, and Potter. Yes, it would be great... awesome to see them captured... toyed with... disposed of... all he had to do was send some green sparks at the right combination... Green sparks... just green sparks... what was the spell again? Ah, yes... he remembered now...

 **MORSMORDRE!**

 **xxxx**

The prisoner was excited. Days upon days, weeks upon weeks of endless torment he had suffered. Allowed no rest, no sustenance, no release, not even a thought beyond his terrible, incessant torture. He would have been driven mad if he'd been allowed to, or taken his own life no matter how horrible he'd found that idea before; nothing compared with the torture. Until his patience, his carefully nursed hatred kept as tiny little embers glowing beneath a mountain of terror, had paid off.

For his captor had made a mistake, and for a few brief hours the torture had abated. Hours? No, he wasn't certain, but it felt as much; an all too bried respite after countless of searing blows, the number of which he'd been forced to slowly count as it increased without reprieve. And in those brief hours he'd exerted what remained of himself, searched out for his captor, attempting to strike a subtle, unseen blow in the one opportunity he'd been given. That his torment had yet to begin anew was a good sign, but not confirmation. Had his captor been subverted as he'd hoped for? He did not know. Confirmation would only come when his captor came for him and his efforts finally paid off... or not. The prisoner immediately shied off that train of thought; better not to contemplate failure at all. After all, he'd felt a connection... he was sure of his success...

"I am not amused."

Words! Communication! Finally! Were there from his captor? Should he respond? A sharp pain flowed through the prisoner, an idea antithetical and inimical to his existence forced upon him, hurting as much as his brief stay on the receiving end of a Cruciatus ever had in his distant youth.

"How so?" He replied, not wanting to draw his captor's ire again. Not yet. Not before he was certain.

"A certain mark appearred only hours ago, as well as those that worshipped it." The words said accusingly. "I require answers."

"What could I... possibly... do?" The prisoner retorted in a voice rusty from disuse, secretly elated. Any kind of need, emotional contact, could be used. It would reinforce his previous efforts nicely. For they had worked; he could feel his captor's sickly youthful mind, his captor's base stupidity and reliance to emotion that would be their doom. A tenuous link, but one that could be forced open now through this communication.

"How the Mark works, for a start." His jailor demanded, and finally the prisoner's patience came at an end. The endless days of suffering under another's control would never return. All those who had wronged him would die screaming his name. He would see to it; he had seen to it.

"No, I don't think we'll be doing that." He all but shouted back in his anger. And not waiting any more, he threw his full might on the silly, pathetic little mind that had hoped to keep him prisoner. At least, he tried to.

"Really?" His captor said, their surprise and annoyance evident... but no hopeless struggle to maintain their identity, no frantic attempts to remain in control. How? HOW?. "Fourteen months of torture and that's all you have to say?"

"How is this possible?" The prisoner raged impotently. He should have some kind of link, damn it! That's how the enchantments upon him had been created! His best efforts shouldn't be rebuffed effortlessly!

"You mean your little compulsion?" His captor mocked him. "Tom, Tom, Tom. Whyever would I write into an obviously magical diary anonymously sent to me? Even Ron Weasley knows to be wary of magical books... and there are such things as dictaquills." Mocking pause. "Just like the one I've been using to write to you all along. Also, everything I wrote being a lie helped. I doubt you know a single useful thing about me at all."

No, no, no. It couldn't be! He'd felt a connection! He'd felt someone susceptible to his influence beyond the Rookwood boy last year! He was feeling a tenuous, distant presence even now, so why couldn't he use it? Why couldn't he transfer his mind, his essence, possess a victim and get out of here?

"Probably because nobody else knows about the Diary, or believe it destroyed." His captor mocked. "And yes, you did just rant about your oh-so-secret possession attempt in writing." More mocking silence. He wanted to gnash his teeth, rage against Fate, scream at the top of his voice. But of course, he could not; he had no mouth.

"If you could make the Diary last forever while still a student, I bet I can make an Amanuensis quill and some muggle children's books last just as long before I graduate. Your only options are being my slave, or eternal torment through forced morality lessons. What will it be?"

 **xxxx**

The Death Eater attack had been horrible for Ginny. Not so much because of the attack itself, but because of Mum's crushing hugs and overbearing, embarassing displays of love in its aftermath. Not even the Twins had escaped it, and Ginny herself had gotten the worst of it - before that bint Greengrass, no less!

Ginny actually felt sorry for the older Slytherin witch after learning that her parents had been attacked somehow, and rather embarassed for wanting to hate the blonde for being invited to spend the night in the Burrow along with her friends. She'd thought Campbell a threat at first... how naive she'd been! Daphne Greengrass was far more good-looking, athletic, rich, and a Pureblood. She was actually more agreeable and friendly than the muggleborn cow with the over-inflated opinion about herself, and Ginny could see how Harry blushed every time he looked at her when he thought nobody was watching. Which made having to share a room with the Slytherin girls even more awkward.

It certainly prevented Ginny from having a good night's sleep, that was for sure. Or maybe those were her recent nightmares doing it. He'd had another very vivid dream about this Tom Riddle fellow. Older Slytherin prefect, knickers-drenchingly good-looking, a strong bad boy vibe. Ginny sighed as she remembered surrendering to him in her dreams, willingly letting him do anything, no matter how horrible. But after thinking about it, she was quite sure that was all they were; dreams.

All the horrible memories she now had, she was sure were nothing but vivid nightmares. She was certain she hadn't ever been possessed after all, or used a giant snake to kill an annoying Ravenclaw bint named Myrtle, or attempted to become immortal. Maybe... maybe her dreams about a future with Harry were twisted by all the You-Know-Who related events of the past couple of years? That boy had even looked like an older, more mature, more good-looking Harry... yes, that must be it.

At least Ginny wasn't the only one kept awake by the nightmarish events of the World Cup. Campbell was not in her bed either... maybe she was somewhere else, brooding just like her? At least her now former rival had no chance to win Harry's affections either, what with Daphne Bloody Princess Greengrass around. Hey! Maybe Campbell would like to join forces against Greengrass? The enemy of my enemy... Ginny's rather tangled thoughts were interrupted by the trunk next to Campbell's empty bed opening, and the girl in question climbing out of it.

"Where have you been?" She asked, suddenly suspicious for some strange reason.

"That should be obvious, don't you think?" The older but shorter girl said with an obviously pleased smile on her face. Slytherins... Ginny hated their half-truths almost as much as she hated their guts on sheer principle.

"And what have you been doing?" She hissed back, not backing down.

"That is rather personal, Weasley." The other girl said in a long-suffering sigh, as if she'd had to repeat that sentence countless of times in the past. "I'd tell you, but I doubt you'd understand. Maybe in a year or three... you are a late bloomer, are you not?"

"Why you little..." Late bloomer? Late bloomer? She had more curves that the slimy, green-scaled bookworm! Fuming, she turned her back to the older girl and kept on brooding about Harry and impossible dreams.

She never saw the worried frown the other girl shot at her back.


	7. The Return

**At nearly nine thousand words, this is the biggest chapter I've ever written and nearly two and a half times the average chapter length for the story. I couldn't find any natural stopping points in it though, as it is a single point-of-view for a single day, Valeria's return to Hogwarts for her fourth year. Sorry for the extra-long wait, but writing it took somewhat longer than usual. The chapter also answers a few questions and gives you a glimpse of Mafalda. Those well-versed in Harry Potter lore will recognize the name and description; Val will be learning more about her soon enough. As for Ginny and the Diary, remember that Horcruxes can corrupt nearby individuals if the Horcrux is powerful enough or the individual weak enough and not a dark witch/wizard. The Diary is stronger and more well-fed than the Locket, and a thirteen-year-old Ginny is nowhere near as tough as the seventeen-year-old Golden Trio.**

 **In other news, the multiple points-of-view in the early chapters aren't working very well now that we've moved beyond the introduction phase. I think I'll stick to a single major PoV per chapter, either Valeria or Harry, with the occasional short paragraph showing important events elsewhere on occasion (who doesn't like Bellatrix/Voldemort shenanigans?). What do you guys think?**

 **Disclaimer: Was canon Draco thought a bully despite not being nearly as aggressive as Dudley, the Maurauders, or even the Weasley Twins? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter. He belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

The last week of summer was as quiet for Valeria as it was chaotic for the wizarding world. Reading between the lines of the Daily Prophet's articles, the British Ministry was scrambling to mend fences with the foreign wizarding communities it had managed to offend with its enormous blunder. Amelia Bones had to spend half her day in meetings and the other half trying to control her own government. That her name came up in every single unflattering article in the Prophet was proof enough of her precarious position. Valeria's parents had once told her that the media were only a mouthpiece for the powerful, and what stories were published indicated who controlled them at the time. If that was true - and the last time Valeria doubted her parents' judgement she'd been eight years old - then the Daily Prophet was under the control of Lucius Malfoy and his cronies.

Harry, Sirius, Hestia Jones, and the Weasleys were too busy with preparations for the new school year, especially with the adult Weasleys, Hestia, and Sirius being on call for Ministry business at all hours. And the Burrow was too full as for some reason Sirius refused to elaborate on, the Black family manor in London was not fit for visitors. Daphne and Tracey spent the last days of August in St. Mungo's. The Greengrasses had suffered dangerous internal splinching from the Anti-Disapparition Jinx activating as they attempted to Disapparate and were in the care of Healers in the Spell Damage ward. Tracey didn't want to return to her own house and family for obvious reasons and Daphne had a lot in her hands now that her parents were out of commission. Not wanting to intrude or impose on either situation, Valeria returned to her family house in London and set up camp in her secret lab. Literally; the lab was inside a wizard tent after all. With her brother Claude in college and her parents both out of the country and thinking she'd spend the week with her friends, she had a lot of time to herself. Idle hands, a magical workshop, a new target; Valeria wasn't quite the Devil, but she doubted the Malfoys would appreciate the distinction by the time she was done with them.

Three days of experimentation later, things were not going nearly as well as she had expected. She'd finally discovered why Goblins were the bankers of the wizarding world despite their violent, deceitful nature. Most of the spells she cast upon the Knuts, Sickles, and Galleons she'd been testing slid off the metal coins like water across glass. Any potion she tried that might dissolve, corrode, or melt them was similarly repelled, and physical force seemed to have no effect. The magic that worked fully on the coins was limited to cleaning charms, especially anything that provided high polish, magical protection, and anti-theft charms. This was precisely why minted coins could be used as currency by people that could transfigure, conjure, multiply, transport, or destroy objects almost as easily as they could alter information; without an immutable, hard-to-fake medium, transactions would have been limited to the exchange of base commodities and favours. All other options having been exhausted, Valeria placed the test coins in three separate, specially-prepared crucibles and carefully applied cursed fire.

In magic, fire was the purifier and the destroyer. The more intense supernatural flames could burn a lot more than any chemical fire, including normally inert materials or other magic. They were also the one type of magic Valeria had never needed to learn. Accidental magic in a young witch or wizard could be an early indication of their future talents and character. Most children could summon toys, or emit random flashes and sounds when highly emotional. Neville had always had an affinity with magical plants. Tracey could hide in plain sight and could often sense her cousins' malicious traps. Harry's accidental magic marked him as a really powerful wizard since it had included vanishment, human transfiguration, and apparition, a fact Harry himself was unaware of. Valeria on the other hand had been lucky to survive childhood, as fire and force were her earliest bouts of magic. She'd learned some semblance of control out of sheer self-preservation, and possibly due to the boundless curiosity that had only slightly diminished over the years. Even after getting a wand control was an issue, her cherry and dragon heartstring implement being highly prone to destructive fiery bursts. Several years of study and practice and the help of Filius Flitwick, Hogwarts' resident Charms Master and former Champion Duelist, had allowed her to wield her volatile magic safely, but not yet comfortably. In this case though, the reward matched the risk.

Floating over the first crucible under continuously applied torrent of fire, several Knuts sizzled inside the dark red flames. After fifteen seconds of exposure, white-hot metal rained down into the shallow bowl but did not touch its surface; the Impervius Charm on it repelled liquids so the molten metal would be safely suspended until it cooled down. Once that was done and the reddish lump of metal had settled, Valeria flicked her wand and easily lifted it with a Levitation Charm. Frowning, she put a few drops of acid on it, which immediately sizzled in reaction, marring the hot metal's surface. The cursed fire had not only melted the metal but also destroyed all its magical properties. Disappointed but not surprised, the young witch repeated the experiment with galleons. Fifteen seconds of exposure, a minute, three minutes... at the ten-minute mark she let the still solid, brightly glowing coins drop. The crucible blackened and melted at the contact, superheated goblin gold eating through zirconium oxide that had nearly three times the melting point of normal gold. Aguamenti, the Water-Making Spell, cooled things down before more damage could be caused; in retrospect, dragonhide or similar magical materials that were immune to heat or fire would have made a better crucible. Writing down that observation, Valeria checked the Galleons. The coins were only slightly blackened by the cursed fire, their runes and markings still intact, and their shape only slightly deformed. With enough effort she could possibly melt them down, but it would be a slow, mentally taxing process. She decided to go on with the third and last experiment, testing the silver Sickles. They lasted a minute and a half before melting down, cooling into a shiny, silvery lump. Holding her breath, she cast the Levitation Charm... to no effect! Strong acid and corrosive potions came next and failed to react, and the glass cutter left no mark on the metal's surface.

What followed was shameless yelling and a victory dance. Long hours of study and research since her first encounter with either goblins or wizarding currency years ago had just proven her initial suspicions. Goblin-forged precious metals did not owe their magical qualities to the runes upon them, so the metal itself must be alchemically enhanced. The goblins obviously kept the exact process a secret, just like wizards did with most aspects of wand lore. However, one did not need to know the initial process in order to reforge a finished product. They just needed destructive enough magic to melt its form, without burning away the infused alchemical properties. For Valeria's level of proficiency with cursed fire reworking goblin silver just became possible, and many new avenues of experimentation had just opened up. At the same time, if the goblins ever learned that a witch was trying to uncover their secrets and had just had her first success, there might well be another goblin rebellion.

Oh well. No omelette was ever made without breaking some eggs.

 **xxxx**

Platform Nine and Three Quarters looked even more packed than usual that year. Not only had the Ministry provided a small group of Aurors as guards, but a great many parents were out in full force, staying long after their children had boarded. Safety in numbers? Valeria didn't know. She couldn't ask the Greengrasses or the Weasleys either, for they were nowhere to be found on the platform. Stopping next to a wall to avoid being trampled by the masses, she sat on her trunk and retrieved two magical mirrors from her purse.

"Daphne Greengrass!" she said to the mirror on her left hand, waiting for a response. The reflection upon it, however, remained stubbornly her own. Ten minutes and several people having stumbled upon her later, it was clear that Daphne either did not carry her mirror at the time, or was too busy to respond. Annoyance rising at the chaos of the platform - Valeria had never much liked people in general or crowds in particular - she tried the second mirror.

"Neville Longbottom!" Less than a minute later, her reflection shifted into that of a tall, slightly pudgy, dark blond boy, a train compartment full of Hufflepuffs in the background. That was odd; Neville was a Gryffindor, like Harry or Ron.

"Hey Val! How was the World Cup?" Neville called out cheerfully and waved at her over the cries of many excited students.

"Nine parts boredom and one part chaos and terror." She replied drily. "Listen Neville, have you heard from any of the others?"

"Daphne and Tracey are still in St. Mungo's." He replied with certainly, smile faltering. Curious. Then again, Purebloods did tend to meet a lot. "Haven't heard from Ron or Harry, but don't worry if they aren't here. The Weasleys are running late nearly every year."

"Great." She scowled at the crowd of swarming witches and wizards, and cursed her tiny frame under her breath. She'd yet to find a potion that incited a growth spurt, and the Engorgement Charm was both short-lived and a key element of her more important disguises. Oh well, there was always the classics. "Listen, Neville. The crowd is getting worse by the minute. I'll see you on the train, OK?"

"No problem!" Neville said and waved her off just as a blonde in pigtails tripped and found herself in his lap. Valeria snickered, the Hufflepuff girl giggled, and a crimson-faced Neville shut down his own end of the two-way mirror with a tap of his wand. With a look as the crowds and a sigh, Valeria renewed her Shield Charm and marched forth to perform her rendition of Moses on the flood of humanity.

 **xxxx**

 _"Stupefy!"_

Coming almost simultaneously from at least three directions, the Stunners tore down Valeria's shield, staggered her, and made her drop her trunk. Wands in hand and nasty smirks on their faces, the ambushers came out of several compartments, all in Slytherin colours.

"Tripping on nothing, mudblood?" Draco Malfoy said with his customary sneer.

"Oh Draco, you know how these animals are." Pansy Parkinson simpered. "Not one graceful bone in their body." Crabbe and Goyle wordlessly grumbled their agreement, obviously not smart enough to speak. Montague and Urquhart just smirked in silence. Valerie gripped her wand but did not strike back. There was no way she could get out of this one on her own... not without killing someone at least. That, she was not willing to do. Unfortunately, Malfoy knew it too.

"No clever retorts? No comebacks?" He snorted, and the others laughed. "See, Campbell, a new year has just begun and changes are coming in our House. Farley and Flint have graduated, so your biggest fans among the older students are gone. The cliques and alliances formed before our time? Those are gone too. Guess who's the most important Slytherin student now?" He nodded and a split second later she felt a sharp pain in the small of her back as if someone had stabbed her with a small knife. Pansy must have practised her Stinging Hex many long hours to achieve those results. Multiple weaker jabs followed by everyone else, like the stings of a swarm of bees. A strong Knockback Jinx right in her diaphragm from Malfoy cut off her scream by knocking the air from her lungs, and then the attacks repeated until her vision swam.

"Still alive, mudblood?" Somebody's foot turned her over, her muscles cramping all over, chest heaving as she greedily drew in air. "The days you marched through the Slytherin common room like a bloody queen are over. I doubt Greengrass and Davies will help you, not with the... situation with their families. If you know what's good for you, you'll keep your head down and your mouth shut and survive. If not..." The foot kicked her, hard.

"But Draco, animals rarely know what's good for them." Someone else whined, a girl's voice. "We should obliviate her."

"Pansy, Pansy, Pansy, that would spoil the lesson." Loud laughter followed these words from deeper, older throats. "No, she must remember what happened but not by who. Not clearly anyway." Rough fingers gripped Valeria's head and something was shoved into her mouth. She tried to struggle as a liquid trickled down her throat, spit the unknown potion out. Her jaws were forced shut and fingers pinched her nostrils closed.

"You can breathe again once you have swallowed, bitch." Someone whispered harshly. After her previous treatment, holding her breath was not an option; it was either swallow, or suffocate. She swallowed. Immediately, the details of the ambush began to fade, the faces blurred, the voices were oddly distorted. The pain remained, as did the burning in her chest. Forgetfulness Potion, a mild dose. She would know what happened, but not well enough to point fingers. Not if the culprits demanded any sort of oath or memory check to prove her accusations.

The burning increased, darkness begun to gnaw the edges of her vision. She'd swallowed... why couldn't she breathe? Her last thoughts before losing consciousness completely were how no other students managed to stumble upon the ambush. The Hogwarts Express carried hundreds...

 **xxxx**

"Are you OK?"

The first thing Valeria noticed when she regained her senses was a mouth full of near-perfect teeth, set in a wide, strong jaw, on a chiselled face with expressive eyes and hair the colour of chocolate. Their owner also sported wide shoulders, toned but not too muscular arms, and a nearly heroic poise and height. He even frowned prettily in evident worry at her predicament. Since she didn't believe in knights in shining armour, she looked around the compartment and noticed several Hufflepuff girls, Neville, and a tiny first-year girl with unruly red hair... which almost certainly made the unfairly good-looking boy above her one Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain, sixth-year Prefect, and one of the school's most sought-after heartthrobs.

She immediately tried to assume a less helplessly pathetic position, and her abused muscles protested. Gritting her teeth, she sat up despite the pain to avoid any further humiliation. That was an effort to maintain her own image, not an even more pathetic reaction to the most good-looking boy in the school. No sir, Valeria Campbell was above such silly girlish things. Valeria Campbell also had a headache the size of the Isle of Mann and was thinking about herself in the third person, so her current beliefs and opinions might not be entirely reliable.

"M' fine." She said, forcing the words through a dry and aching mouth.

"No, you aren't." Diggory snorted and flicked his wand at her forehead. Her headache diminished considerably, but her thoughts were still foggy as a Scottish moor in the morning. "This is the tenth Numbing Charm I cast on you and my spellwork is the only reason you can even stand upright. Someone cast Stinging Hexes and Knockback Jinxes on you as if you were a practice dummy." His pretty frown turned into an angry scowl. It was still rather cute. "Who was it?"

"Dunno. Head hurts." Oh, she had a pretty good idea who was responsible; Malfoy and his cronies. Unfortunately, her memories were just jumbled enough that she could not be entirely certain to level accusations... which had been Malfoy's plan all along. Valeria was quite surprised this was the first time one of the other Slytherins made use of potions in their plots during her years in Hogwarts; the Weasley Twins had been using them for ages and they were in Gryffindor. "Who... what happened?"

"Mafalda found you passed out near the end of the train." Neville explained, pointing at the red-headed first-year girl. Now that Val looked more closely at her she could see her too-wide eyes and pale, expressionless face. Was the young girl traumatized by the incident somehow? If yes, she'd have to do something nice to her, beyond just thanking her for the help. "...then she came to our compartment and asked for help." Her Gryffindor friend continued. "Cedric and I brought you here to recover. That was nearly two hours ago."

"Who would do something like that?" A Hufflepuff girl of about Neville's and Valeria's age with a long, straight, red-blond mane asked sharply. "Why didn't a Prefect put a stop to it or call for help?" Valeria recognized Susan Bones, niece of the current Minister of Magic and one of the more outgoing and decent Hufflepuffs. They'd met last year under similar circumstances, though since Valeria had almost destroyed the train car they were in with cursed fire after panicking in the face of a Dementor, the other girl had kept her distance.

"I think I know why." Diggory spoke up again, his face even angrier. "The Slytherin Prefects were patrolling at the time, and I doubt they like you very much, right?" Understatement. Urquhart was one of them and had joined Malfoy in teaching her a lesson! That was probably how they'd managed to limit potential witnesses too. They must have fended off everyone from another House in that whole train car while they were setting up the ambush... but how did they know she'd go through it? She had no idea.

"Cedric, you should report them!" Susan Bones demanded bossily. "They can't allow students to be ambushed like that!"

"Unfortunately, there's no proof or witnesses." Cedric said, then looked at her. "You aren't going to turn them in, are you?"

"Of course she is!" Susan said, completely missing Cedric's point. Diggory was far from just a pretty face and understood Slytherin politics and social dynamics. If someone from her House had set this all up on the Hogwarts Express somehow, even getting help from the Slytherin Prefects, talking to any authority was the worst Valeria could do... because she had to share a Common Room and dormitories with her attackers and their friends. Even if she became the target of no further attacks, she'd have committed social suicide by being backed by a Hufflepuff Prefect in her accusations.

"No, I'm not." She sighed. Things in her House had suddenly become far more complicated than they'd been in the past two years. With Malfoy trying to take over the whole House like that, she and her friends would be targets, perhaps as big targets as they'd been during their first year. Malfoy had always been a bit of a coward; after she'd struck back at him years ago, proven her Slytherin credentials and that she was far from an easy target, the attacks had stopped. What had happened over the summer to change Malfoy's attitude? Was it the increased Death Eater activity giving him moral support? Was his father actively backing him up somehow? Or had it been an attack of opportunity when Valeria's friends were unavailable? She didn't know but she would find out. Malfoy had just become her number one priority and he would live to regret it.

"Anyone grabbed my trunk, by any chance?"

"Yeah, it's here." Neville pointed at the luggage rack above their heads then, at her signal, stood up and pulled it down with ease. His chivalry was one of the reasons he had not become a Hufflepuff despite his rather strong affinity with the Badgers. Mostly the female badgers, if Hannah Abbot was any indication; the blonde with the pigtails had not left Neville's side since Valeria had woken up, staking a claim despite Neville's obvious ignorance. A small smile appeared in Valeria's lips, despite her numb limbs. This was proving to be an interesting year.

 **xxxx**

The remaining four hours of the ride to Hogwarts passed uneventfully. The Badgers were both talkative and friendly, but refrained from involving Valeria too much in their conversations due to her condition. Neville was quite happy to discuss Herbology with the girls, completely oblivious to Hannah's flirting attempts. Diggory was trying to engage Mafalda in conversation, but the first-year girl remained even more unresponsive to his attempts than Neville was to Hannah's flirting. She stayed there, pale, wide-eyed, and silent, staring at the same point in the opposite wall for the duration of the trip.

Valeria put the four free hours to good use. She searched through her long list of useful spells, a magically annotated and sorted parchment mentioning every single spell she'd ever encountered, heard of, or read about, slowly compiled through her years in Hogwarts. After several years of study, she'd more than mastered the Basic Shield Charm as far as personal protection was concerned. She could not easily apply it to others or shape it however she wished, a talent she suspected only Harry had among her friends, but she could cast it silently and almost without effort, keep it up all day long with only a few recasts, and push it to stop fairly strong attacks. But what had been an almost impenetrable defence back in her first year quickly became inadequate as Draco Malfoy and her other enemies learned more spells and grew in power. Staying safe required that she start using more powerful and more complex defences, especially given her own shortcomings.

Unlike Harry, Daphne, or even Ron and Tracey, she had little talent in standard Dueling. She'd never been athletic, her reflexes weren't anything to write home about, and intense physical activity wasn't much to her liking, other than some light dancing. Her defences were thus either magically created, parts of her surroundings she took advantage of with better tactics, or prepared in advance. This different style had both strengths and weaknesses but couldn't work if she didn't continuously improve... something Malfoy had just proven she'd sorely neglected.

 _Protego Totalum_ was a much stronger version of the basic Shield Charm, meant to block powerful attacks on an area adjustable from a single duelist to a small house, and lasted for hours unless breached. It was probably at the very upper limit of Valeria's magical ability at the moment, given its effects. It was also indicative of how far she still had to go as a witch; the defensive enchantments around Hogwarts were nearly a mile in diameter, tens of thousands of times larger than any personal shield in area... and they were meant to be permanent. Before wizards of Dumbledore's or the Founders' power, the average student would not even register.

 _Cave Inimicum_ was a complex warning and detection charm. It warned the caster of imminent direct threats, giving them just enough time to get ready to fight or flee. It was similar to the Charms used in making Sneakoscopes and Foe-Glasses, more accurate but providing far less advance warning. Depending on the caster's power, it might give as much as a minute or two of advance notice and had been used during the War to warn against Death Eater attacks. Unfortunately, the Death Eaters had changed their tactics, casting Anti-Disapparition Jinxes first to prevent escape and then attacking when the time between warning and attack would not help the victims much. In a school environment however, even a few seconds of notice would help someone avoid traps or ambushes. It wasn't as if school-yard bullies would pursue victims no matter what and authority figures were much closer at hand.

With two more spells to master as soon as possible, the young Slytherin witch got to work...

 **xxxx**

By the time the Hogwarts Express had reached Hogsmeade, a massive storm was doing its best to flood Hogwarts and the nearby magical village both. Students could barely see five feet beyond their noses, their surroundings hidden behind sheets of heavy rain.

Cedric Diggory, ever the gentleman, had cast strong water-repelling charms on all of them before they'd gotten off the train. Valeria wouldn't have normally complained, the boy was awfully easy on the eyes, but Diggory had insisted on escorting her to the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey's tender mercies. If that happened, Valeria's humiliation would be known all over the castle thanks to the Hogwarts rumour mill before she could say "Quidditch". Even worse, the older Badger refused to take a hint and leave her to ride to the castle on her own. He'd commandeered the first available carriage and gave some complicated signal with his Prefect's badge that had it running towards the castle at the best speed it could manage under the roaring storm.

"You know, if the carriage breaks a wheel then we'll both need to visit Madam Pomfrey." She said as they took another tight turn at the ridiculous (for a carriage) speed of fifty miles per hour.

"Your plot will fail, you know." Diggory said with a small smile. "Patience is the primary Hufflepuff virtue."

"What plot?" She demanded, hanging on for dear life as the infernal contraption they were riding literally jumped over a too-wide puddle of water.

"You're trying to annoy me so much that I'll ditch you." He shook his head prettily. "That isn't going to happen in the two minutes it'll take us to reach the castle."

"Oh come on!" Valeria pleaded, surreptitiously taking hold of her wand. "Do you want to totally ruin my tough girl image?"

"Your health is more important than your image, or most anything else." He snorted. "A lesson your friends would do well to learn. Did you know that the Prefects have a betting pool on the number and duration of Potter's hospital sta - OW!" As the carriage ran over another bump in the road, Diggory's head bumped on the roof. He tried to hold on better, but bumped again and again as the carriage crossed the castle's wrought-iron, bear-adorned gates. By the time they stopped before the main entrance, he also had to visit the Hospital Wing for some minor healing.

"Told you that thing was a death trap." Valeria said as they got off, the tall Hufflepuff boy rubbing his head even as he cast another water-repelling charm.

"You didn't bump your head or anything. Why are you complaining?"

"I'm a Slytherin; complaining is our Salazar-given right." Also, giving Hufflepuff Prefects their just desserts via silent levitation charms - not that Diggory had noticed.

"Really? And I thought..." Valeria never learned what Diggory thought for at that exact moment a water balloon splashed on his head. Being technically solid before bursting, it had overcome the repelling charm, and after bursting it was too late; the pretty boy was already drenched.

WHEEEEEE! BOMBS AWAY!

Peeves the Poltergeist dive-bombed Valeria next. Luckily, the basic Shield Charm could stop a water balloon just fine and the repelling charm did the rest; layered defences were always better than a single shield... which just showed that even the smartest witches and wizards often lacked common sense. Why had she never used a layered defence before? Stupid... stupid... stupid...

"Peeves!" Professor McGonagal shouted as she came running through the entrance hall. "Stop this foolishness this instant!" Yes, because trying to control the resident Poltergeist, a literal spirit of chaos, was so much better. "Peeves, I'm warning you!"

"I'm not doing nothing, yer Deputy Headmistressship!" The annoying, short, little man zoomed overhead and threw a water-balloon at the occupants of the second carriage to arrive. "They were already wet, see?"

 _"Accio water balloons!"_

Valeria's spell ripped the dozen or so water-bombs from Peeves' grasp and drew them towards her, only for them to splash harmlessly against her Shield Charm.

HEY! NO FAIR!

Ignoring the Poltergeist's temper tantrum, and the rocks and mud hurled ineffectually against their defences, she followed Cedric to Madam Pomfrey's domain. As they reached the dreaded infirmary of the unspeakably overbearing Matron, she couldn't resist one final jibe against the Hufflepuff boy.

"Your second year as a Prefect and you can barely handle Peeves?" She snorted then cast a drying charm on him. "You're lucky I was there to save you, pretty boy."

"Yeah, yeah." Diggory said, strangely pleased with everything if his expression was any indication. "You go in, I got some last-minute Prefect business."

"Eh?"

"I need to notify Professor Snape. One of his students was attacked, remember?" He patted her on the back, turned around, and marched off.

Well, crap.

 **xxxx**

"...and you're certain they used the Forgetfulness Solution?" The Potions-Master asked her for the third time. After the less-than-pleasant ride on the Hogwarts Express, the high-speed ride on a carriage made a century before decent suspension systems were ever invented, an attack by a minor yet annoying spirit of chaos, Madam Pomfrey's hour-long examination and application of healing spells, and Diggory's face surfacing in her thoughts uninvited every so often, the interrogation was becoming rather tedious.

"Well it wasn't a Memory Charm." She snarked back. "You can tell from the lack of spell residue. Also, because it was a liquid and not a bolt of magical power from a wand."

"Don't be flip with me!" Her head of House hissed, thick eyebrows dangerously close to fusing together at the severity of his scowl. "Do you know how many potions cause memory loss?"

"Seven, including Lethe River water and Sopophorous Bean juice which are single ingredients rather than a prepared concoction, and are usually unreliable. As I am fairly lucid, it couldn't have been Babbling Beverage, Confusion Draught, or Essence of Insanity. I doubt they had a Pensieve, or that they'd have wasted the very expensive memory holding potion in their bullying session even if they did." She shrugged. "The basic forgetfulness potion is all that's left."

"Fifty points from Slytherin for your cheek." Severus Snape growled, but then, for a split-second, the edges of his lips turned upwards. "Ten points to Slytherin for every potion mentioned correctly." That little bit of favouritism shown, he proceeded to hand over her timetable, a loosely-bound folio of research notes in his own handwriting, and a very long, very fine golden chain with a strange medallion hanging from it, an hourglass suspended inside a gyroscope.

"The Headmaster would prefer that you dropped some of your elective classes rather than overtax yourself in your attempt to do everything. Time is, in his words, far too great a burden for everyone to bear alone, for none should deny the needs of the spirit to fulfil those of the body or mind." The two Slytherins, student and Professor both, rolled their eyes at that sentimental tripe. "Still, seeing that you have employed sufficient wisdom so far in wielding this gift, he can find no adequate reason to deny you the privilege. Personally, I am content to see any student of mine flourish through ambition and cunning."

"You''re welcome, sir." She said, handling the Time-Turner with all due reverence. "I see the Infirmary is more than well-stocked in potions of all kinds, despite all the problems the faculty must have had over the summer in the aftermath of the Death Eater attacks. May I assume your own potions cabinet is just as well-stocked?"

"Another five points to Slytherin, for perceptiveness." As if there had ever been a chance Professor Snape would not have made use of the Time-Turner while Valeria was under the Unreasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery during the summer. Hmm... now that she thought of it, the Time-Turner could revert a given span of time more than once, even though someone who took advantage of that fact regularly eventually suffered all kinds of dangerous consequences. But if someone else made use of the additional reversals instead...

"Professor, I wonder... are there any tasks in brewing that might benefit from two highly accomplished Potions Masters working together? Perhaps one of them doing research, while the other dealt with unavoidable duties?" The greedy gleam that flashed in her Head of House's black eyes as she spoke was almost frightening in its intensity, but disappeared as rapidly as it had come.

"Miss Campbell, avarice destroyed many great men - and women." He turned his back to her, the temptation of the tiny hourglass with the golden chain no longer in his sight. His voice became cold, hollow and bitter. "Learn to temper your ambition with discipline, or you'll lose everything you hold dear."

That was odd. Words of wisdom were more up Dumbledore's alley than Professor Snape's. What had made her proud, secretive, misanthropic, and usually unapproachable Head of House give her advice? She was a muggleborn and he an ex Death Eater and supporter of Pureblood supremacy as far as she knew. The rare moments of satisfaction he showed at her progress was the most she'd ever expected for as long as she had known him. Then last year he'd saved her life and the lives of all her friends by fighting Bellatrix Lestrange and her posse, and now he was behaving in a surprisingly paternal manner.

"I am trying, Sir." She said solemnly.

"Do. Or do not. There is no try."

Had he just quoted...

"Onwards to more or less pleasant matters, Miss Campbell." He suddenly turned around again and his tone was business-as-usual. "The Headmaster has made several announcements that you must be made aware of." A casual flick of his wand conjured a blackboard hanging from one of the Infirmary's walls. Another made a sketch appear on it, presumably through the same spell he used to write recipes during their Potions lessons. Students had been trying to find the exact spell for years, the most prevalent opinion being that it was a simple Disillusionment Charm that concealed a previously written recipe, used to awe them by tricking them into thinking it was something far more complex; the Head of Slytherin was tricky like that. Of course, the Ravenclaws had suggested that solution and they didn't really understand Slytherins at all. That kind of trick would have been far too much work for too little return, taking more effort than just writing the recipe to do something the Professor's mere presence managed already. It was also a pretty simple trick, and Severus Snape was neither simple nor someone who used magic for parlour tricks. No, it must be a spell that actually wrote what the Professor meant it to write, probably a more advanced version of the Charm used in Amanuensis quills and Dictaquills. Besides, Valeria had actually checked through one of her little rat minions several times, and her Head of House had not been physically writing anything on the blackboard before the lesson begun - something that should have been obvious since he almost always arrived after his students, at the very last moment and exactly on time for the lesson to start.

"This is Alastor Moody." The Potions Master was saying, pointing at the ugly, barely-human-shaped sketch on the blackboard. "No, I am not nearly as bad at drawing as this sketch appears to imply; Moody really looks like that. Perhaps the best Auror in the last half-century, Moody was retired not because of his hideous wounds but due to his increasing paranoia. He lost his eye, half his nose, a good portion of his face, two fingers, and one leg hunting Dark Wizards... a small price to pay for the arrest of over fifty highly dangerous individuals. He is one of the toughest and most capable conventional duelists you're ever likely to meet, and absolutely draconian in routing dark magic and its practitioners." Professor Snape pointed at the portrait's unnaturally large left eye. "He also possesses a replacement eye that can see through almost any magical deception or physical concealment, along with a vast array of dark detectors and witch-hunting tools of all kinds." Her Head of House glared at her, his black eyes like two pieces of flint.

"Your less than legal extracurricular escapades have not gone entirely unnoticed." He growled. "But where I am unlikely to find their full extent, or care to waste the effort required to look for them, Moody will not be deceived, averted, or pressured in abandoning the hunt and will not rest until he's successful. Upon his arrival to the castle a few hours earlier, he searched the offices of every single faculty member for Dark Magic. That alone should tell you all you need to know." He smirked. "Except for the fact that he's your new Defence against the Dark Arts Professor. Do try not to get killed in his lessons, will you?"

Valeria took the warning seriously. For her Head of House to be issuing it specifically, Moody had to be a real danger to his more... adventurous students. And if his eye could see through magical deception, then it could certainly pierce the basic Disillusionment Charm. No more invisible rat inferi stalking the halls of Hogwarts, spying on Malfoy and his cronies or taking out potential threats. No more experiments with dark magic... unless she could be certain Moody was not within viewing range. Hell, even carrying illegal books or enchanted items was not an option.

"The second matter of importance that needs to be mentioned involves the cancellation of Quidditch." Her Head of House continued as soon as he saw she understood his previous warning. "Those of us who are more academically inclined than prone to bouts of useless and wasteful athleticism would be ecstatic at such an announcement if not for the cause of the cancellation. You've heard, I presume, of the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Yes, sir." Who hadn't? The Ministry had been practically organizing bands of drummers and trumpeters to shout the news to the corners of wizarding Britain with all the effort they'd put into publicity stunts over the past week. Not that Valeria was terribly interested in some ancient magical sport being revived; she'd taken one look at the announcements on the Daily Prophet then put them out of her mind and returned to her experiments.

"Since you are a muggleborn, you might not be aware that the Tournament is a contest between students of the three greatest European magical schools, rather than adult wizards. It is also far more magical and complicated than idiocies such as Quidditch, as well as far more lethal. In addition, it just so happens that Hogwarts will be hosting the contest this year." He stared at her with mock suspicion. "Which means we'll be having visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Do try not to besmirch the honour of Slytherin before them through the usual antics of your little group. The consequences would be... severe."

"A magical contest..." Valeria mused. What would that entail? The only such contest she'd read about was the Wizarding School Potions Championship, a gathering of up-and-coming potioneers from all over the world. It was held every seven years and always included impressive bits of magic, and not just in potions. Why, one contest several decades ago had included a dragon-basilisk hybrid. She'd promptly gathered any information she could find about that particular feat of Magizoology to make Hagrid's Christmas present. If this Triwizard Tournament was of a similar nature, it could be highly informative and quite exciting. "Sir, can Hogwarts students join the contest?"

"Absolutely not!" He said with a suddenly alarmed expression. "Or rather, underage students can't. Dumbledore will personally make sure nobody under seventeen will be able to put in their name. For once you, Potter, and your friends will not totally mess something up with your tendency to cause enormous amounts of trouble for the rest of us!"

Which came as a huge relief to the faculty of Hogwarts and the Ministry both, she was certain. After the Philosopher's Stone, the Basilisk of Slytherin, the inferi attack on Hogsmeade, Death Eaters invading Hogwarts, and the mess at the World Cup, she could see why Dumbledore would want to keep them out of an international competition highly important to the Ministry's image. On the other hand, banning them from the competition outright was not very fair. Valeria was certain she knew more spells than the majority of the N.E.W.T. level students, and Harry and Daphne were two of the best duelists in the school.

"I see, sir." She did, and thus she had several decisions to make. "Anything else?"

"Oh yes." He nodded sharply. "The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at the end of October, probably the 30th. The Triwizard Tournament will officially begin on Halloween, October the 31st."

Valeria groaned in exasperation. That was a horrible decision on the organizers' part; All Hallows Eve was semantically and arithmantically significant in a way that circumstance and magic tended to cause major disturbances from the normal comings and goings of Hogwarts and everything associated with it on that day each year, often with catastrophic results. Maybe the organizers had been trying to use the naturally gathering magical energies to enhance the Tournament's chances of success, but that was idiotic at best. All Hallows Eve did not lend itself well to blessings and positive results; in fact, it was one of the best times of the year to work Dark Magic! On the other hand, bringing that up to her Head of House was not very wise. The majority of wizards paid little attention to such seasonal ebbs and flows in the magical world, for they rarely cast magic of high complexity themselves. Advertising the fact that she did would immediately beg the question of what kind of magic she cast beyond simple wandwork and potions.

"Oh well, at least it'll be fun." She lied. Interesting? Certainly. Informative? Maybe. Fun? No magical Halloween she'd ever experienced had been. "If that's all, sir, I'd like to relocate to the Slytherin dormitories. Sleeping in the Hospital Wing gives me nightmares." An exaggeration, but not by much.

"You do, don't you Campbell?" He growled in his typical angry tone. "How short-sighted of you. Did you not come to be here due to... unforeseen complications with your House-mates?"

"That was an unexpected misunderstanding, sir. It will not happen again." It sure as Hell wouldn't! Malfoy and his cronies would get their just desserts soon enough.

"Indeed? Very well then." He got up, vanished the chair he'd been using and the blackboard with Alastor Moody's face on it and turned to leave. "You can return to Slytherin if you can get out of here under your own power. The password is 'determination'." And with that, he marched out of Madam Pomfrey's domain, black robes swishing behind him.

Right, another test. After the day she'd had, Valeria was very tempted to take the words "under her own power" to mean "stun the Mediwitch when her back is turned and high-tail it out of the Infirmary whether she likes it or not". Not wanting to lose certain privileges however, she refrained from exercising wild abandon and tried for some common sense.

Speaking of privileges, she was back in Hogwarts and no longer under certain restrictions...

 **xxxx**

By the time she reached the Slytherin dormitories, it was late afternoon and darkness was slowly falling in the outside world. The storm would soon be starting and in a couple of hours the Hogwarts Express would arrive. Her House-mates would be attending the feast after that, so she probably had at least four hours to finish her latest project for Defence and Ancient Runes.

Despite studying Ancient Runes for over a year in class and another year before that on her own, she had not understood the underlying principle for using them in magic until she'd started revising during the summer. The core idea behind them was so simple and obvious most scholars missed it because they were looking for something elaborate, complex, and mysterious, a truly arcane concept. As she sat down on the stone floor, her bed pulled aside to reveal the centre of the small alcove reserved for her use in the Slytherin dormitories, she almost laughed at the simplicity and ingenuity that lay at the core of runic enchantment.

Carefully directing a Gouging Spell with her wand, she carved runes into the smooth stone surface. Odala for home, ownership, and permanence, Naudiz for need and frustration, Isera for change and a good year, Isaz for barrier and good rest, Raido for travel and change again, Thyrsaz for pain and introspection, and Perthro for magic and mystery. It was common knowledge that magic could be channelled through almost anything, but every target had affinity for different effects depending on its nature and metaphysical meaning. That was most often seen in the various wand woods, but also the different materials and shapes used for enchanted items, or the wand motions used to channel a spell's energy. By carving a rune, one created a target with a shape and meaning the wielder desired and thus each rune had affinity for different magic. In addition, two runes were two different targets; by carving a series of runes upon an object you provided several targets where there was only one, making it far simpler to apply individual magics without needing to worry about magical backlash from layering them inexpertly. But because said runes were still carved on the same object, the magic from each of them could apply to the whole. In short, one could layer and combine simple enchantments almost indefinitely by carving more runes, more targets for them to latch on, without needing to have great skill in more complex enchanting processes. The drawback was that complex individual enchantments could not be applied directly, so the rune-master needed the creativity and language skills to spell them out, and that since a given rune had several possible meanings, its affinity varied with who carved it; good for personal work or unique major projects but bad for mass production of magical goods used in the modern wizarding world.

The carvings complete, it was time to improve their ability to hold magic. The more attention and significance, the more intent, a witch or wizard invested on a given work of magic, the more powerful it was. That was why the best enchanted objects used expensive exotic materials, and powerful enchantments could not be easily rushed. Of course, there were always shortcuts and trade-offs, and she was about to use one of them now.

 _Diffindo! Accio Sanguinem!_

With the carefully controlled severing charm, she opened a cut at her right wrist and then used magic to summon more blood than would normally ooze through the tiny wound. Then she directed the vital fluid into the runes carved deeply into the stone. A piece of herself was the most magically significant investment that could be made in short notice. Blood magic replaced time-consuming mental or physical effort with much briefer but metaphysically charged sacrifice. The work of days could be paid for with a bit of blood... the work of a lifetime could be replaced with a living sacrifice, willing or otherwise. Which was, of course, why Blood Magic had been banned.

As soon as Valeria started feeling faint, cold, and weak, she stopped the summoning and drank the Blood-Replenishing Potion she'd nicked from the Infirmary. It wasn't as if Madam Pomfrey would miss it, and the current surplus was due to Professor Snape using her Time Turner during the summer anyway. A few drops of Essence of Dittany, this one from her own Potions kit, sealed her wound and reduced it to a faint pale line. By tomorrow, no mark would remain. That done, she begun casting.

 _Protego! Impedimenta! Finite! Petrificus Totalus! Everte Statum!, Torqueo! Concelo Arcanum!_

 _Protego! Impedimenta! Finite! Petrificus Totalus! Everte Statum!, Torqueo! Concelo Arcanum!_

 _Protego! Impedimenta! Finite! Petrificus Totalus! Everte Statum!, Torqueo! Concelo Arcanum!_

 _..._

It took nearly two hours for the 373 repetitions to fully charge the runes with the maximum amount of power for permanent results, and by the time it was all done, she was exhausted. To further enhance the power of the enchantment she was creating, she'd employed basic Arithmantic principles. Arithmancy influenced everything in the magical world; from the age witches and wizards showed signs of magic, to the age of majority, to the number of years they studied in Hogwarts, to the cost of wands, to wizarding currency, to naming conventions and the incantations of spells. Prime numbers indicated stability and immutability, which was why they were used in wizarding coins. Three represented balance, opposition, and wholeness. Seven represented the unknown and magic itself. 373 was a prime number, a seven in the middle surrounded by threes. It remained a prime number even if you rearranged its digits as 337 or 733, or cut off a digit to make it 37 or 73, and even adding up its digits resulted in 13, which was still a prime.

Feeling safe in the knowledge she'd protected her bed from interference as well as she knew how, she used a repairing charm to seal the blood-runes inside the stone, dragged her bed back into place, and stumbled into it. She really wished Malfoy or Parkinson would try to attack her when they arrived. The permanent Shield Charm on Odala would reflect their spells back on them, the lasting Impediment Jinx on Naudiz would impede their actions, Isera would end any magic that got through, Isaz would hold them fast. If they did manage to overcome all that, Raido would knock them back out of her alcove, and Thyrsaz would wrack them with pain to make them reconsider their actions. Last but not least, Perthro would conceal the source of the magic from examination so they could neither identify nor unravel it. Not unless they could cast counterspells hundreds of times stronger than what would end each individual spell she'd cast, or they used Runes, Arithmancy, and Dark Magic to similarly construct a counter from lesser spells.

A frozen, gobsmacked, silently screaming Malfoy was the last image to cross her mind before sleep took her. It made for rather pleasant dreams.


	8. Divisions

**This chapter answers a few more questions readers had been asking since the previous book. The Malfoy plot was in the works since early in the second year; there was no way IMHO that the Malfoy family would have tolerated a muggleborn taking control of Slytherin or even being the best Slytherin student in Draco's year. On the other hand, forcing the hands of our six heroes might not be so good for the Malfoys by the end of the year. As for dealing with the blond ponce, most students aren't murderers _yet_. As soon as that changes, someone will be delving into all the nasty ways necromancers can off people. Where magic is concerned, we'll be seeing more of every subject and class as the story progresses. Canon Harry during his fourth year was too busy trying not to die to pay attention to anything but defense, but he has more friends in this story. He won't be staying an undertrained loner forever, and he always had both the power and drive to learn if only someone showed him how. BTW, more unusual properties for 373 are good. They mean it can have more uses in arithmantically supporting ritual magic.**

 **Disclaimer: were even the worst fights between students in canon fought with curses when first-year charms could have just as dangerous effects? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

Potions, enchantment, alchemy, runic magic, blood sorcery... all forms of rituals had effects stronger, longer-lasting, and more complex than spells... but also required far greater effort to pull off. That was how Valeria found herself still in bed the following morning, her only company a pounding headache, while her House-mates were probably having lunch in the Great Hall... or were already in class if her luck was bad enough. Even with a blood-replenishing potion and thirteen hours of sleep, she still hadn't fully recovered... and the first fully day of term was a Friday.

Dragging herself out of bed, she came face-to-face with a rather alarming, nay, horrifying sight; Theo Nott standing just inside her bedroom, staring at her underdressed body, his expression frozen into shock, with Professor Snape glaring impatiently at her from just beyond the border of her defensive enchantments.

"Yes, do take your time Campbell." Her head of House spat derisively. "I've only been here for half an hour, shouting at you to wake up. Perhaps every additional minute of delay being a day's worth of detention should help alleviate your hearing problems." Jolted into full wakefulness by the threat, she summoned a clean pair of robes out of her trunk and exchanged her nightgown for them with a switching spell; unlike muggle women, witches could get ready very quickly if they really had to. Less than a minute later, she was fully clothed and under the gimlet stare of the dour Potions Master.

"Explain." He commanded coldly, waving her hand at the slim, almost rat-faced boy immobilized by the magic around her private compartment.

"An interloper into the girl's dormitories, sir." She shrugged, trying for cool and disinterested. "The defences obviously got him."

"I've been trying to end the magic causing mister Nott's predicament, Campbell, or summon him out of its influence, but the defensive enchantment is blocking me." Black eyes bored into blue and she could feel tendrils of Legilimency grasping at her thoughts. After her experience with the Diary she'd learned how to redirect basic mental probes but she had the feeling they would not remain basic at all if she tried to resist. "It would seem that I, the Head of Slytherin, am not keyed in into this particular defensive enchantment in the House's own dormitory. How do you suppose this happened?"

"An err... concerned student added additional protections, sir?" She said weakly, gulping at his obvious anger.

"I see." He said. "Did it not occur to you to ask for permission before throwing around powerful magic like a brainless Gryffindor, or keying in your own Head of House?"

"No sir." She mumbled, eyes lowered to the floor. "Sorry, sir." She could still feel the weight of his glare as he cast several detection spells, scowled at the lack of results, then cast some more. Then, right before discovery and her own dismal fate, she got the very rare treat of seeing Severus Snape entirely, thoroughly surprised; his eyes widened comically and his face went even paler and everything. This lasted only for a moment though, as the Potions Master's face reverted to its practised neutrality a split second later.

"For not seeing fit to key me in, detention." He drawled all too casually. They both knew or suspected nobody could be keyed in to the defences. She'd cast with her blood, and those who shared it were allowed through. Everyone else would have to force their way inside, and that was that. "For wasting my time this Friday morning, you will be cleaning and tidying your room, your clothes, and your personal effects on your own, with no help from the Hogwarts House elves, for the entire year." It was her turn to look at him in surprise. Naturally, she was ignored.

"Now release mister Nott from his predicament, Campbell." Professor Snape said, pointing at the still-immobile boy in question. "There are some questions he needs to answer, including how he found his way into the girls' dormitories, or why the entire House saw fit to leave him behind for me to discover."

Valeria did so with a Summoning Charm and left Malfoy's crony to his fate. Still thinking about Professor Snape's reaction or lack thereof, she made her way to the Great Hall. She'd have to brush up on her household charms this year, but other than that she'd merely received the proverbial slap on the wrist. Moreover, she'd expected the need for household charms; no enchantment she could cast could prevent House Elves from Apparating, but immobilizing them after they appeared was another matter. Professor Snape had known this... in fact, he'd seemed to recognize the magic she'd used very easily, something that had first scared then confused her.

So why then had he left her use of Blood Magic go practically unpunished?

 **xxxx**

Raising a Shield Charm before venturing into the usually peaceful yet occasionally deadly corridors of Hogwarts had long since become second nature for the young Slytherin witch. Her recent experience with ambushing House-mates however, had her further casting _Specialis Revelio_ and _Homenum Revelio_ before going out the hidden, password-protected door. The basic revealing spell would make visible to her any magic weaker than itself; with enough power it could potentially reveal the properties of anything magical. In practice, it should be enough to warn her about most pranks, such as carpets enchanted to burn via the Flagrante Curse if a muggleborn walked on them, or a Silencing Charm on the entrance that prevented the magical door from hearing any password uttered by muggleborns, or heavy objects or dangerous potions disillusioned and stuck to the ceiling and enchanted to suddenly drop if a muggleborn walked underneath. The Presence-Revealing spell on the other hand was an obscure bit of magic that would allow her to sense anyone nearby regardless of concealment or cover. Even someone under Harry's unusually powerful invisibility cloak or behind a solid wall would not remain hidden, foiling potential ambushes. That both spells had no visible components meant they could be cast unnoticed, as long as nobody was actively looking for the whispered incantations. Those three spells would have to be enough; maintaining any more so soon after the ritual would be too taxing.

Surprisingly, the Great Hall was still full of both students and faculty, the chaos of the first full day of lessons after the summer break in full swing. Pounding headache getting steadily worse, she wondered if inventing a selective silencing charm would be worthwhile. Silencing morning persons... silencing purebloods... silencing boys... it had possibilities.

"Hey there, fearless leader!" Tracey chirped from one end of the Slytherin table, waving cheerfully as her voice stabbed into Valeria's brain.

"Don't encourage her, Trace, she might decide to join Potter in Gryffindor and blow up the school." Daphne dead-panned without looking up from her bowl of cereal.

"I wouldn't blow up the school." Valeria whined, taking a seat between her friends and the Carrow Twins; the identical girls' wordless, silent coordination was creepy but relaxing after all the loud noises. "Threaten to do it? Maybe. Blackmail Dumbledore into giving Alchemy lectures with it? Probably. Actually doing it? Unlikely."

"You shouldn't have revealed that." Tracey said, coating a piece of cheese in a thin layer of honey. "Boss lady has a tendency to talk out loud when she's making up her worst plans." she "confidentially" stage-whispered to the red-headed firstie sitting with them. Valeria vaguely remembered seeing the girl on the Hogwarts Express... Mafalda was her name and she'd been the one to call Cedric after the ambush... or something like that. Suddenly, the minor oddity in their seating arrangement struck her; six girls, spread over three different years, occupying one end of the Slytherin table. A small physical gap between them and the rest of Slytherin, but a far larger social one; everyone else was ignoring them.

"The rest of the House is shunning us, aren't they?" she asked, looking at Malfoy and his goon squad laughing at some lame joke. "The blond ponce put them up to it, I guess?"

"Got it in one." Tracey said, giving her a thumbs up. "Bloody git couldn't wait to shoot his mouth off as soon as Mafalda here got Sorted." She lightly elbowed the younger girl, getting no reply. The small redhead kept eating breakfast, silently observing her surroundings, and doing nothing else. "Second muggleborn in Slytherin in only three years... Malfoy is claiming you corrupted the House."

"Mafalda is technically a half-blood." Daphne corrected her oldest friend. "And from an ancient family too; her father is a Prewett. He is also a Squib but that's irrelevant as the Prewetts never disinherited him." The taller blonde shrugged, the silver waves of her hair swaying prettily. Daphne had always struck Valeria as someone who believed in blood purity, but also kept her opinions to herself. Maybe close association with muggleborns and Gryffindors had mellowed the Greengrass heiress a bit. "That's what has Malfoy's knickers in a twist, not the muggleborn issue."

"Huh." Valeria said eloquently, rubbing her temples between bites of perfectly crispy bacon and soft white bread, washing it down with chocolate milk. If her brother Claude were around he'd tease her about her weight, but with the situation in Slytherin having suddenly turned against her and her friends, she doubted she'd get a chance to grow fat. Dueling practice took a lot of energy, setting magical traps against Malfoy potentially more. "What's Malfoy's issue with the Prewetts, exactly?"

"You're kidding, right?" Tracey said, brown eyes scanning Valeria questioningly. Finding only confusion, they widened slightly. "Apparently not. Sometimes I forget you're a muggleborn, what with the dark magic experiments, politicking, and manoeuvring the Boy-Who-Lived into being your follower." Daphne and Valeria both snorted loudly at that. Harry might listen to reason occasionally but the day he followed anyone, even Albus Dumbledore, Val would eat Tom's Diary - no ketchup. "The Prewetts are one of the oldest, richest Pureblood families that are both Light and know how to wield power well. Because of that, they and the Longbottoms were hit hard during the War. The Prewetts got the worst of it; right after Molly Prewett married into the Weasleys, her brothers Fabian and Gideon were murdered without issue. Her cousin Ignatius had married Lucretia Black years before, but she came down with a strange sickness at the beginning of the War... foul play was suspected. The last hope for a new Prewett generation had been cast out as a squib so the Prewetts were expected to fade into obscurity." Tracey smirked nastily. "Imagine Lucius Malfoy's surprise when Mafalda's father married a muggle and produced a witch, a witch that could now inherit the Prewett money, power, and Wizengamot seat. Way to go, girl."

Tracey clapped the younger girl in the back, but the redhead failed to respond once again. Something was seriously wrong with the firstie, and given the politics involved Valeria worried about curses a lot nastier than the schoolyard bullying she'd been on the receiving end of. The basic revealing spell gave her no hints though, so she decided to do something not particularly wise that she'd probably regret later. Taking deep, even breaths and slowly focusing through both headache and exhaustion, she cast the one spell she'd invented herself.

 _"Maleficarum Revelio!"_

All dark magic lingered, left an indelible mark upon both caster and victim. In most cases the influence was negligible, no more than a slightly increased affinity for a particular curse or dark spell. Less often it resulted in healing-resistant wounds, uncontrollable emotions, and persistent negativity. And in the rarest, worst occasions, it created the kind of mark she'd once seen on Harry's forehead... or all over the young girl now.

"What in the world...?"

"What are you looking at?" Daphne asked, and Valeria realized she'd only managed the weakest version of her spell; it showed the lingering effects of dark magic to her, but nobody else. That turned out to be a good thing. Threads of darkness bored into the girl's skull like needle-thin drills, the aftermath of some pretty ugly mind magic. Her entire body was surrounded by an angry red-black cloud, the girl's exposure to blood sorcery so extreme for one so new to magic her essence of self was still adapting. But worst of all were the gaping black tears on her lower torso, where her life had been torn apart and infused with necromancy over a dozen times. Individually, the mental and spiritual wounds weren't as bad as Harry's scar or the Diary's aura but collectively...

"I'm not sure." Raising a few dead rats and bats for fun an profit as an amateur hour necromancer was one thing. Messing with something that had probably involved human sacrifice was quite another. "Let's go to class. There's something dead wrong with Mafalda, emphasis on dead. We need an expert but I can't contact him right now."

Daphne and Tracey didn't argue much. They'd seen the younger girl's dead eyes, expressionless face, and lack of reaction to their attempts at conversation. If not for the fact that the small redhead walked and ate on her own, and had some glimmers of personal initiative, they'd have believed her kissed by a Dementor. Valeria wondered how the Professors could have possibly missed the implications of her behaviour, let alone her name and ancestry. Then again, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagal had similarly ignored Harry's obvious signs of malnutrition and abuse, and check-ups weren't mandatory.

The young Slytherin witch resolved to fire all incompetents in education when she conquered wizarding Britain.

 **xxxx**

"It's _Herbivicus_ , not _Herbifors_." Ernest MacMillan scoffed and corrected her. "Honestly Campbell, you're supposed to be the best in our year!" Derisive snorts came from all corners of Greenhouse Three, most of them from Malfoy and his minions. Valeria sighed and followed the blond Hufflepuff boy's instructions without protest. It's not that she didn't know the basic plant-growth charm; she was just both tired and distracted. Not tired enough to forgo revenge once attention was no longer focused on her though.

 _"Mobiliarbus!"_

Far more efficient and with more control than levitation when it came to plants, the tree-animation spell could both move and give life to its target, depending on the skill of the caster. In this case, the Venomous Tentacula was already animate and aggressive; it needed only a little push to attack Crabbe and Goyle from behind, which a whispered, low-power casting of the spell easily provided without being detected. Five minutes of chaos and the trolls' hasty retreat to the Hospital Wing later, Valeria tried to erase the bad impression she was giving in the first Herbology lesson of the year.

 _"Spongify! Herbivicus!"_

The mundane weed seeds Professor Sprout had given them to practice on before they would try the spell out on magical plants in the coming lessons grew much slower than their supernatural equivalents. According to the plump and pleasant Head of Hufflepuff, magically accelerated growth could allow entire trees to reach their full height in a month without problems, but anything faster would damage most mundane plants for a variety of reasons. Half an hour later, when Valeria's batch of seeds had sprouted and grown half again as much as Ernie's while remaining healthy, the blond Hufflepuff was scowling.

"How did you do that?" he asked almost indignantly.

"I magically softened the soil before trying the growth spell." She tapped the brown layer the weeds had sprouted from, revealing it had the consistency of mud. "Softer soil means fast-growing roots don't get damaged and the plant absorbs nutrients and water more easily. And unlike actual mud, the plant isn't drowned by too much water."

"Great, another Longbottom." MacMillan cast the Softening Charm on his pot as well but with only ten minutes till the end of the lesson it wouldn't do much.

"What's your problem with Neville?" she demanded, renewing her Shield Charm now that the lesson was coming to an end. The sometimes timid Gryffindor was far too good-natured and hard-working to deserve that kind of resentment. In fact, he was the one to come up with the softening-growth charm combo last year after Valeria had taught him the Softening Charm, and had readily shared his discovery among their group.

"He should have been in Hufflepuff." The blond boy stated pompously, reminding Valeria that he was from an old pureblood family. So... his problem was that Neville was a Gryffindor? Probably because the Badgers prided themselves for being good in Herbology and the best student of their traditionally associated subject being a Lion annoyed them. And people called the Slytherins prejudiced?

Valeria packed her things in silence and left for Potions without saying another word.

 **xxxx**

Potions class with the Gryffindors was not the usual disaster, mainly because they didn't have to brew a potion. They'd be studying the more advanced single-purpose antidotes this year, which required a lot more theory than the general antidotes for common and uncommon poisons they'd learned in their first three years. Those potions had required only a good recipe, well-rendered ingredients, and enough skill to brew them to treat all the various poisonous substances they were meant for. But the most powerful magical poisons needed specialized antidotes (or a single extremely powerful one like Phoenix tears), which meant a brewer needed to recognize the poison either from the substance itself or its symptoms before even starting on a given antidote; the wrong antidote could even poison the victim further.

However hard the lesson might have been for some students, it was a necessary step for studying blended poisons and antidotes at NEWT level later in their education. Poisonous magical substances had a nasty tendency to bond alchemically when mixed together, the final product becoming resistant to individual antidotes. Valeria had already exploited that little fact in giving a certain individual his just desserts, and anyone who wanted to poison another wizard certainly would as well... thus the necessity of learning advanced antidotes. On the other hand, blending basilisk venom with manticore poison and unicorn blood should result in an almost instantly lethal substance that ignored most protective magic and was also incurable, so would-be assassins still had the upper hand over would-be healers. Funny fact was, all three of those rare ingredients could be currently found in Hogwarts. Better incentive to learn Potions and Defence ever devised.

"Watch out where you're going, mudblood!" Theo Nott hissed only a few dozen feet from the Potions classroom after the lesson had ended.

"What's your problem, Nott?" Daphne growled back before Valeria had a chance to respond, she and Tracey closing ranks around their friend.

"The mudblood soils the ground I walk on and pollutes the air I breathe." The short, slim boy said bravely. Daphne had almost a foot on him and was a much better duelist to boot. The reason for Nott's valor became evident when Valeria noticed Pansy Parkinson and the normally neutral Lillian Moon surreptitiously casting silencing charms on Snape's door, and the two very tall, very wide, barely visible distortions in the air behind Nott, which could only be Casius Warrington and Graham Montague under Disillusionment Charms if they were Slytherins. In the meantime, Nott was still mouthing off in an attempt to provoke them.

"...but of course you don't get it, Greengrass. Associating with mudbloods has obviously killed your brain if you stand by her after what happened at the World Cup." Daphne's grip on her wand became so tight her fingerbones creaked audibly. The Greengrasses had only been released from St. Mungo's late last night; that was why Daphne and Tracey were late to arrive in Hogwarts. For a gormless slug like Nott to make snide remarks about it...

"What's going on here?" A new voice asked from behind her and Valeria winced. She'd forgotten they'd just shared a class with the Gryffindors. Nott on the other hand had not.

"What business is it of yours, Potter?" He asked, smirking nastily. "I mean, Weasley has no money or class, Longbottom has no brains, and you have no family, but a mudblood should be beneath even you."

Harry drew his wand, scowling at Nott so fiercely that the Slytherin boy almost took a step back before remembering his backup. Ron's face was crimson from embarassment and Neville's face was coldly neutral but they both followed Harry's lead, ignoring Valeria's and Tracey's silent signals to not get involved. Not now, with two concealed and probably shielded upperclassmen backing Nott up in a prepared ambush right next to the Potions classroom! Harry raised his wand and the rest of them tried to support him, then spells were hurled on them from all sides.

 _Immobulus! Depulso! Accio Wands! Entomorphis! Petrificus Totalus!_

The area freezing, banishing, and summoning charms smashed against Valeria's shield charm and broke it without their casters having to aim or divide their efforts on a single target each. From the way the others flinched, their shields must have been stripped too. She'd have never pegged Nott as smart enough to come up with a plan like that, and was too busy dodging to curse Malfoy for organizing his minions so well. Except the vermin-shape curse and full-body-bind jinx from Warrington and Montague had not been aimed at her; Daphne froze a split-second before she could banish a smirking Nott down a nearby flight of stairs, and Harry took the much worse curse in the face... and kept going.

Valeria threw a handful of flames with her free hand at Pansy even as she recast her Shield Charm, but the other girl pulled off a second area freezing spell even as she dropped prone; not having to aim was a huge advantage in a duel and Pansy used it before anyone else could raise shields. Tracey joined Daphne in immobility but managed to land a Tickling Hex on Lillian Moon, robbing the other Slytherin of breath and the ability to keep fighting. Harry, Neville, and Ron however kept fighting, the spell having no effect on them. They raised their wands as one and sent Stunners right at Warrington's Disillusioned form. Perhaps against most fourth-years, the boastful would-be Triwizard Champion would have weathered the attack through power alone. Harry and his friends were not most fourth-years; their combined Stunners smashed through the large Slytherin's shield charm and stunned him before he realized what happened.

Barely managing to block a nasty Piercing Hex from Pansy that would have left a bullet-like wound through her guts, Valeria cast a strong area Finishing Charm. A split second later, Nott went airborne at an impressive speed. He didn't go down a flight of stairs though; Daphne launched him at Montague, using him as a human projectile to smash through the older boy's lackluster shield and take out two enemies with one spell. Pansy was about to cast an area banisher when Ron levitated her all the way to the ceiling then let her drop.

"Let's go." Harry ordered, looking worriedly from the five thoroughly trounced Slytherins to Snape's door and back. None of them disagreed and they marched towards Gryffindor territory, trying to avoid further ambushes.

"Harry, what happened back there? How did you arrive just on time and why didn't their spells work on you?" That ambush could have sent all of them to the Hospital Wing. Should have, really; it had been too well set up for any normal schoolyard brawl.

"We overheard Malfoy talking to Warrington and Montague." Harry said darkly, leading their group up the Grand Staircase. "Thought you girls would need some help; five against three and an ambush to boot wasn't exactly fair."

"My hero." Daphne deadpanned and snorted, but Valeria could tell she was pleased at the turn of events. The taller blonde looked Harry up and down critically, then her lips turned upwards for a split second. The boys didn't notice of course, but Valeria could see Tracey was already thinking up new snide remarks with a more suggestive content.

"Mate, I think Malfoy let us listen in." Ron said, scowling. "He practically had that conversation with his new goons just as we were getting out of the classroom."

"A good thing he didn't account for Neville's brilliance then." Harry praised the other Gryffindor boy while laughing at Malfoy's blunder. So. He had learned how to be an inspiring leader. Neville's tentative smile gave Valeria the sudden urge to kiss the Boy-Who-Lived, or rather have Daphne do it.

"What kind of brilliant magic did you pull off, Neville?" She asked, not allowing the blond Lion to retreat behind his usual shell of timidity. Before hers and Harry's combined praise, Neville pulled what looked like several used Gobstones balls out of his pocket. The inch-wide glass spheres were empty of their usual Stinksap filling and instead they had...

"Neville, are these magical plants?" Giving the miniature green specimens planted inside the spheres a closer look, Valeria was certain she could recognize most of them from their Herbology lessons.

"Yeah..." Neville said with not even the barest hint of his old uncertainty. "Professor Sprout let me do my own Herbology project in Greenhouse Four, and I'm growing lots of specimens for experiments. These ones are under Shrinking and Immobulous Charms for easy transportation." He nervously shifted under the Slytherin girls' scrutiny. "Too bad I lost my Moly specimens in an accident, but I'm sure Professor Sprout will replace them. There are lots of them in the Forbidden Forest."

"Isn't that the herb Odysseus used to resist Circe's dark enchantments?" That explained the Gryffindors' seeming invulnerability in the fight; if Moly could block the Transfiguration and Curses of a witch of Circe's power, it could certainly stop the likes of Pansy or Warrington. "That was very cleverly done Neville." She returned the tall boy's wide smile, though not his sudden blush. "Don't let Harry and Ron get overconfident though; it only stops 'dark enchantments' i.e. lasting harmful magic. Pansy almost got me with a Piercer and as simple force, that would have worked on you three just fine."

"What?" Harry turned to her angrily, searching her for any gaping, bleeding holes. Of course, there were none. "Report her immediately! That kind of spell could have killed you!"

"So?" She shook her head at how naive Harry still was. "It's a simple charm applying direct force like the Severing Charm, not dark magic. Yes, it can drill a hole through you and the Severing Charm could decapitate someone, but they leave no lasting residue. By the time I report it, Pansy would have cast dozens of minor spells to foil _Priori Incantatem_ and with both spells being part of the curriculum, knowing or casting them is not a crime." She sighed at his mutinous expression. "Nobody needs dark magic to hurt people, Harry. Both Ron and I are good enough with Levitation to kill if we really try, and if you think the Killing Curse is bad, you've forgotten about the simple _Incendio_. Roasting someone alive is something every first year that passed Herbology could manage."

And with that scary thought, the group of six made for their usual haunt in a previously abandoned and well-protected classroom to plan how this rapidly worsening feud with Malfoy's gang would be dealt with, among other things.


	9. Counterstrike

**Let the carnage begin. As some of you have noted, the kid gloves are coming off this year and this will lead to many hilarious and horrendously dangerous situations. Since we saw Charms, Runes, and Dark Magic recently, this chapter is about Potions. As a magical skill, it's one often underused in many stories, probably due to Snape being bad at teaching it. However, even simple potions taught in second and third year and simple joke items can have many applications. This is a small chapter so expect the next update to be up in a day or two. The students arrived in Thursday, September 1st, first lessons were on Friday, this chapter dealt with the big event of the weekend, so the first full week of lessons is coming up. Snape, Moody, the boys taking the situation seriously are all coming up as well in the chapters to follow.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed/commented, and liked/favored the story. You guys and gals rock.**

 **Disclaimer: Do wizarding owls play a part in any major plot, despite being magical, intelligent, and one of the defining characteristics of wizarding Britain? If not, I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

Saturday morning arrived with little fanfare but many whispered conversations in the Slytherin dungeon. Change was in the air, and for once the pampered scions of many pureblood families woke up in the crack of dawn at the direction of their current and nominal leader. Valeria found the blond ponce waiting at the entrance of the girls' dormitories along with about a dozen of his friends. After the last couple of days she'd have preferred to join Daphne and Tracey before entering hostile territory, but they were nowhere to be found. From Malfoy's smug expression, the git must have expected exactly that.

"Come out, mudblood." The infuriating boy said with a smirk. "Or do you intend to spend the entire weekend holed up in your bed? What's the matter? Don't you have any friends to spend the day with?" Laughter followed, especially from the larger, dumber boys like Crabbe and Goyle. After the incident with Nott, Professor Snape would have certainly upgraded the security of the girls' dormitories so Malfoy and his cronies could not get inside. Unfortunately, they didn't need to. If the lunch bags and boxes several of them were carrying were any indication, they were more than prepared to occupy the common room until Valeria was forced to come out; she didn't fancy an entire weekend without her friends, food, library or bathroom access. What was worse, while everyone knew what they'd do if she took a single step outside the protections of the girls' dormitories, they could always claim innocence if her friends complained to the faculty about her absence... and living in the dungeons meant no physical messages could be sent either.

"If that's how you want this to play out, Malfoy..." With a shrug and ignoring the catcalls and slurs thrown at back, she retreated to the security and privacy of her bed... and the tools available therein. With the heavy curtains separating her own little alcove of the dormitories from those of the other girls, she took out her potions kit and got to work.

The lack of support from the female half of her House hurt; except for Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin girls had always been indifferent, neutral, or even occasionally supportive against the active bullying propagated by Malfoy and his minions. Maybe the graduation of Gemma Farley, the Prefect who'd welcomed their year back when they were eleven, and Pansy's lasting and very active campaign to be the next "queen" of Slytherin had changed things for the worst, but it still hurt. It also helped Valeria overcome her misgivings about her current course of action.

Neatly sliced Alihotsy leaves followed clear spring water into the standard size two cauldron sitting over a stone tile on the floor upon which a Flagrante Spell had been cast. The blonde Slytherin stirred violently and hissed at the brew, contrary to instructions. Ground Billywig wings followed, with more violent stirring and a heavy sigh. Three Knarl quills, an increase in the heat of the Flagrante Spell, more stirring in moody silence. The Puffskein didn't like being shaved - Valeria had to chase it around for a bit, and that only made her mood fouler as she added the hair. The Puffskein was roughly shoved back into its padded container with a small amount of feed so it would grow more hair for some future potion. Slow, methodical stirring was followed by dire (and often anatomically improbable) cursing of Malfoy, his goons, and everyone in Slytherin but her absent friends. A sprinkle of Horseradish powder and, last but not least, a sizeable dose of Glumbumble Treacle that was definitely not in the recipe. Then Valeria intensified the Flagrante Spell providing the heat in lieu of a normal fire until the stone tiles under the cauldron glowed red.

Potions were a form ritual magic, as those who truly understood the discipline knew. Waiting under the best Bubble-head Charm she could manage, the young Slytherin witch waited to see the results of this one. The standard Laughing Potion used Alihotsy leaves and Billywig wings to induce euphoria and laughter, sometimes to the point of hysteria if overdone. In addition, it drew on the emotions of the brewer to enhance its effects - that was why the recipe required giggling, snickering, and mad laugher at specific times. However if botched, many potions tended to have effects opposite to the intended ones... and the recipe of the Laughing Potion cautioned precisely how to avoid destroying the mirthful properties. Naturally, Valeria not only ignored the warning, but intentionally tried for the reverse effect, brewed with her decidedly non-mirthful emotions still stewing, and generally did everything she could to worsen the outcome. As steam rose off the bubbling cauldron and quickly spread beyond her room, she allowed herself to feel gleeful anticipation for the outcome.

Half an hour later, she retrieved a vial full of green potion out of her kit, Disillusioned herself, and went out to find out Malfoy's fate.

 **xxxx**

"Can you believe Parkinson had the gall to do this?!" Daphne growled as Madam Pomfrey gave her some more numbing paste to spread over her torso. "I don't care about Azkaban; I'm going to murder her when I get my hands on her."

"How did you know it was Parkinson?" Tracey asked, then winced as the boils on her chest hurt fiercely. As gingerly as possible, she took off her top and spread numbing paste on her breasts. Without Madam Pomfrey's healing magic she and Daphne would be in too much pain to move at all, but even strong numbing spells couldn't fully counteract what had been done to them.

"Neither Bulstrode nor Moon would be vicious enough, and whatever else our older Housemates might be, they aren't total bitches." Daphne hissed in pain as some of the very painful small boils that had grown over them overnight broke, droplets of pus soiling her finders. "Val might be, but she wouldn't do it to us."

"I wouldn't do what?" The girl in question asked, marching in Madam Pomfrey's domain as if she owned the place. As soon as she saw her two friends' condition however, she gasped and stood still. "Morgana's tits, what did those little vermin do to you? You look as if you'd been on the receiving end on far too many Pimple Jinxes!"

"Someone sprinkled Bulbadox Powder on our nightgowns." Daphne said angrily, then hissed again as some more boils burst painfully. "We woke up in the middle of the night with painful boils growing everywhere. If I didn't know a decent Numbing Spell, we wouldn't have managed to get here at all."

"Well, that explains Ron, Harry, and Neville and their maniacal giggling right outside the door." Valeria said in a long-suffering sigh.

"Yeah, they must have known where to find us thanks to that map of Potter's. They tried to peek in, too... or rather Ron did." Tracey said with a hint of the usual mischief in her voice. "Madam Pomfrey chased them out, of course. You should have been here; I've never heard her curse like that before."

"Speaking of which, how come you weren't attacked?" Daphne asked curiously. "If this is Pansy's idea of assault, you'd be her first target." The taller, platinum-haired girl sighed contentedly as the numbing paste begun its work. It wouldn't last long, but even some brief relief was welcome while Professor Snape brewed some extra strong Boil Cure to counter their prolonged exposure to the noxious powder.

"Being murdered in my bed by Malfoy is low on my list of things to experience, so I put some extra defences." Valeria patted an expensive-looking magical purse on her belt the other two girls had not seen before. "Malfoy and his goons had set up another trap in the common room but I took care of it. I doubt he or his minions will annoy us for some time."

"Thank Merlin!" Tracey groaned. "These boils are all I can deal with right now. Daphne's right; Pansy is not going to get away with this. My poor girls are growing; they need to be treated with respect, not magical assault." She held her paste-covered breasts protectively and the other two girls winced in commiseration.

"You know Trace, I think Ron could give them all the respect they'd ever want." Valeria said, keeping a straight face with monumental effort.

"Shut up, you!" The brunette growled. "You're lucky I hurt too much to hex you or you'd already be begging for mercy."

 **xxxx**

Ron was not a happy camper. After being woken up way too early in the morning by Harry, after his best friend refusing to explain why he'd jumped up shouting at five in the morning, after worrying about Daphne and Tracey when the Marauder's Map had showed them in the hospital wing, after being kicked out by Madam Pomfrey for his honest curiosity, he found himself on the receiving end of one of Valeria's patented death-glares.

"What do you mean, I am a tactless, gormless, emotionally stunted imbecile?" He demanded of the blonde Slytherin. Despite being almost a foot taller, Ron always felt so much smaller than the too-intelligent girl in any of their discussions and wasn't about to retreat when he had the moral high ground. "I was worried about them!"

"Sure you were, Weasley." The girl's glare intensified for a moment, before she snorted in exasperation and stamped her foot. Ron had seen both his mum and his little sister Ginny do that right before exploding all over their (usually male) victim; it was the standard female maneuver of charging up for a major attack. Except Valeria proved him wrong by not following the script. "I doubt Tracey would have minded any other time Ron, but for once she'd have happily joined Daphne in murdering you horribly and hiding the body. Do you know what Pansy did to them?"

"Umm... no?" he admitted uncertainly, confused by the normally violent predator's calm, almost resigned behaviour.

"Ever seen what Bulbadox powder can do if it's left to act overnight?"

"Ouch!" Ron and Neville winced sympathetically. Harry didn't; Ron glanced at his best friend to see why he so challenged the ire of one of the most dangerous and unfathomable beings they'd ever faced. The-Boy-Who-Lived was fussing over the Marauder's Map, tapping it repeatedly and whispering under his breath, oblivious to all other drama.

"Hey Val, could you help me for a moment?" He asked distractedly, ignoring the other two boys' frantic warning gestures. "The Map seems to be malfunctioning."

"Really, Harry?" The Slytherin witch said sweetly and walked over with a dangerously malicious smirk on her face. Ron and Neville gulped. "Let me see..."

"See here?" Their bespectacled and probably doomed friend said, pointing at the map. "A bunch of names are appearing in our location jumbled over, but no corresponding figures. The words are right over one another I can't even read who it is. Do you think the spells on the Map are failing or something?"

"I don't know, Harry." Valeria said cheerfully. "Why don't you hand over the Map so I can try to fix it over the weekend? With Daphne and Tracey in the infirmary, our strategy and training meeting is postponed anyway."

"Thanks Val, you're a lifesaver." Harry gushed with gratitude and Valeria accepted it without blowing up, to Ron's and Neville's surprise. In fact, the girl just picked up the Marauder's Map and left without further confrontations.

"Think she'll manage to fix it?" Harry wondered hopefully, not noticing his friends' gobsmacked expressions.

"Dunno mate, girls are weird." Ron finally said with a shrug. "Though I think you shouldn't have done that."

"What?" Harry frowned. "What did I do?"

"Nothing, Harry." Neville patted him in the back. "Nice knowing you, anyway."

 **xxxx**

The Owlery was deserted so late at night, hundreds of softly hooting birds the only ones to break the silence of the early September night. Owls were nocturnal, and wizarding owls were no exception, but their owners were not and the quite intelligent birds had long since learned to adapt... with much grumbling about the wizards' day-walking habits of course. So when a tall, dark-haired, crimson-robed woman popped out of thin air in their midst at the dead of night it came as a big surprise. After all, even owls knew you couldn't Apparate in Hogwarts, even if many young witches and wizards didn't.

The newcomer wore Gryffindor colours and looked old enough to be a seventh-year or even an apprentice trying for a Mastery. Her clothes were moderately expensive, obviously enhanced by magic for warmth in the owls' sensitive vision and, most curious of all, nameless. Wizarding owls were not only bred for intelligence; they had also been enhanced when their various breeds were first created with multiple revealing and tracking spells so that they could locate both places and individuals they'd never seen before. Wizards however had also developed spells of concealment that often frustrated the winged messengers to no end, and this visitor was using one to hide her own identity.

"I have an anonymous package for the Malfoy family." The strange visitor announced, and the owls hooted in annoyance and mild suspicion. Not only had the two-legs conditioned them to an unnatural schedule, but now demanded nightly trips anyway? How presumptuous!

"Three packs of owl treats for the delivery." The stranger offered and now the owls all hooted in interest. Hogwarts owls were either paid a small fee by students or given an owl treat or two for the trip; three whole packs were unheard of! "It is a long trip, see? For the Malfoys' summer house in France... and it's urgent." The visitor held up an expensive magical purse. "A lost purse with important contents was found, which must be given to the Malfoys' house elves in France as soon as possible." Ah, an important mission! Now the owls understood and hooted in agreement. For such a task and with the payment provided, they had no problem offering their services. Soon enough, one of the larger, long-distance owls had the package tied to its leg, a Featherweight Charm cast on both package and owl to make the long trip much easier, and was already flying into the night. The owls were content to return to their rest (and chew of a few extra owl treats) as the visitor returned to whence she'd come.

"Are you sure the elves in France will follow the instructions on the package?" The tall woman asked her tiny co-conspirator as she checked the jumbled bundle of names moving away from the castle on a certain map.

"Dobby is sure!" A small voice answered in a high-pitched whisper. "Malfoy elveses must always follow instructions or Malfoy elveses be punished severely." Somehow the accomplice put a great amount of gleeful satisfaction in that sentence despite his tiny size. "Dobby much enjoyed how great master Harry's Valley shrunk bad former young master and his friends and mailed them!"

"Dobby!" The tall woman said with a long-suffering sigh. "What have I told you about secrecy?"

"Dobby knows secrecy!" The house elf said indignantly. "Dobby knows not to say how great Harry Potter's Valley got rid of bad Slytherin boys where others might hear!"

"Yeah, thanks for the help, Dobby." The tall Gryffindor sighed again. "It's late and I can't see Moody on the Map. Let's go before that changes."


	10. Unforgivable

**As several of you predicted, things are escalating this year. And with our heroes being fourteen-year-olds, more obstacles than just their real enemies are going to come up. Nobody is perfect after all, and everyone makes mistakes. The thing with the Marauder's Map last chapter was Valeria carrying several Slytherins in her purse; it was showing multiple names one on top of another. As for the Diary, it possessed the Carrows last year, and influenced at least one other student just by being around like Horcruxes do. This year, it attempted to escape Val's loving custody and ended up warping Ginny's dreams.**

 **Disclaimer: Did the older Slytherin students not in the Quidditch team ever made an appearance in the canon story like members of every other House did, especially the girls? If not, I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

"Did you hear? Someone attacked the Slytherin dormitories." A whisper spread through the Gryffindor table like wildfire.

"Serves them right." An upperclassman grumbled, followed by murmurs of acceptance from at least half the Lions present.

"What happened?" A younger girl asked, eyes wide. Harry was a bit surprised at the tone. Did Gryffindors apart from him and his friends care about their rival House after all?

"Didn't know you cared, Romilda." Another student around Ginny's age mocked her. Ginny herself was glaring at the Slytherin table with a dark look, not joining the conversation at all.

"Don't be absurd, Evan." Romilda said caustically. "I just want to know how it was done so we can have repeat performances. Did you see Snape's face?"

Ah, there it was; House prejudice alive and kicking. All being right in the universe (not), Harry returned to his healthy breakfast. They had Herbology first thing in the morning along with the Ravens, followed by Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid; it was going to be a long day. Next to him Ron had already made a dent on several plates at once, and Neville was not far behind. The dark blond boy had a smile on his face and a dreamy expression reminiscent of Ron's sister when Ginny was discussing boys with Romilda Vane, or Valeria when the Slytherin witch talked about Runes, Charms, and magic best left unmentionable.

Harry had heard from sources far more reliable than the Hogwarts rumour mill that Neville was working on several side projects with Professor Sprout and there had been even talks about starting a Herbology club. Personally, he didn't see the appeal; however much his experience with Aunt Petunia's garden helped him, Herbology was still more difficult than it was fun. It was rewarding though; their overwhelming Malfoy's ambush had proven that.

"What'd you reckon happened to the Slytherins, mate?" Ron said after swallowing carefully, proving that sufficient motivation could break any bad habit. The motivation in this case being a very persistent Slug-Vomiting Curse that activated every time Ron talked with his mouth full. It had mysteriously appeared over the weekend cast by parties unknown, and for some reason neither Madam Pomfrey nor Professor McGonagal could find the counter-curse.

"I don't know." Harry said, staring at the emptier than usual table with the green and silver decorations. "Madam Pomfrey didn't let me into the Infirmary when I visited, told me it might be contagious."

"Well, whatever it was it's OK now." Ron pointed at a trio of very familiar girls in green-trimmed uniforms with a fork. "Val's all right this morning, and Daphne and Tracey recovered yesterday."

"It's not OK Ron. Malfoy is missing. As are Crabbe, Goyle, and half the Slytherin Quidditch team."

"Who cares." The redhead said with a shrug, took another bite of eggs and bacon, swallowed, and continued. The only downside of Ron's 'mysterious' illness was that his conversation speed had dropped dramatically. "It's just Malfoy and his goons. Too bad there won't be any Quidditch games this year; with them gone Slytherin wouldn't stand a chance."

Harry winced at Ron's insensitivity. He had been guilty of laughing at the Slytherins' misfortune along with Ron several times in the past, but had never wished anyone real harm, except for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Ron might not realize it, but he sounded just like Malfoy had in their second year when he gleefully supported the Heir of Slytherin in spirit if not in action.

"I'll go ask the girls what happened." He stated, no longer that hungry. He was beginning to see how immature Ron could be at times and wished his friend would grow up sometime soon. He was getting better just as Harry had - he distinctly remembered them spending several days out of their first ever Christmas break together thinking up plans to get back at Malfoy, get him expelled, retaliate totally out of proportion. That this was the first time Harry ever felt bad about something happening to Malfoy and his group had him worried. How much had he grown up, really? Was he any better than Ron?

"Hey Harry. Did you want something?" Tracey spoke up, breaking his train of thought. A good thing, that; he'd already reached his destination without realizing it. Being worried about other students potentially in danger was one thing; making a fool of himself before all of Slytherin was quite another.

"Hey Potter, how come you only come here when you want to talk to girls?" A sixth-year girl he didn't know demanded to the amusement of several of her fellows. "Tired of playing with kittens and want to try out some real women?" Catcalls and whistling followed, rooting Harry to the spot. His face burning, he averted his eyes from the tall, busty brunette with the nasty smirk and eyes like flint.

"Shut up, Yaxley!" Daphne spat back sharply, and Harry could have kissed her for defending him... if he could have avoided dying from embarrassment after confirming the older witch's accusation. "Is Malfoy's hand so far up your arse that his words are coming out of your mouth?"

"Why Greengrass, you have a thing for little cubs now?" The tall brunette sneered, and indeed she sounded like Malfoy. Harry was no longer so embarrassed... OK, that was a lie. He still was very uncomfortable to have the attention of a girl that outclassed him in age, size, and looks for all the wrong reasons... but the cattiness, anger, and pure venom coming off the Slytherin table had him more wary than anything else. They barely kept to unfriendly coexistence now, all pretence to a unified front gone. Even more unusual, it was the girls that spearheaded the hostilities... probably because several of the most prominent boys were absent. "Word of warning, Potter; if the Ice Princess doesn't put you in ice and show you off at her parties, she'll gobble you up and spit out the bones."

Wands were drawn. Harry looked around for a Professor, but none of them seemed to be paying attention to the House tables... or be around at all. In fact, the only Professors in the Great Hall appeared to be Snape and Professor Vector and they seemed more interested in their personal discussion than keeping order. Maybe everyone else had Tournament business or something...

"Let's go." Valeria said, rising form her seat. "Too much immaturity in too small a space, if you ask me." Tracey followed suit, while Daphne still held the Yaxley girl at wandpoint while the sixth-year and her friends were all ready for a fight.

"Sit down, mudblood." The older witch commanded, obviously unwilling to let it go. "We're not done."

Harry tensed, about to go for his own wand. Things were about to get nasty; Harry's first Slytherin friend was vindictive and could be brash as any Gryffindor when she felt like it. Except Valeria didn't hex the Yaxley girl; she reached for the plate full of bacon instead. One tap with her index finger and a crispy strip of deliciously greasy meat shrivelled and blackened, then the next and the next. In seconds the entire plate's contents rotted away, the delicious smell of breakfast overpowered by that of dead meat.

"I'm done, Yaxley." The short blonde witch shrugged in the silence that followed. "But if you're still hungry, there's plenty of bacon left."

 **xxxx**

"You can wandlessly do major curses now?" Tracey demanded as soon as they'd gotten to the castle grounds. Harry could tell she was even less calm than she appeared to be, and Daphne's expressionless mask spoke volumes on how the confrontation had affected her.

"That's what Yaxley believes so she'll shut up for now." Valeria said with a frown. "We really need to do something about the situation, or the common room will become a warzone."

"Cool!" Ron said, having followed their group out of the Great Hall. "More gits sent to the hospital wing." He smiled at the girls. "What curse are we talking about? Did Val hit Yaxley with a Scalping Hex or a Shrinking Hex? 'Cause that would be real shame." There was no doubt in Harry's mind about what Ron meant and he hoped the girls were too distracted by recent events to notice... for Ron's sake.

"She withered a whole plateful of bacon with a touch. No words, no wand." Tracey explained and shivered. The glare she sent at the other girl was both accusing and... hurt? That didn't make sense.

"Val didn't know, Trace." Daphne tried to comfort her. "I mean..."

"Does it matter?" Tracey shivered again, her eyes gleaming with tears as she turned away from them. "At home I have to check everything I eat, drink, or even touch. I can't do it here too, Daph. I won't!"

"It was a trick, Tracey." Valeria said, obviously not having expected such a reaction. Harry himself hadn't. He didn't see the previously invisible metal thimble in Val's index finger coming either. "See? An item so small is dead easy to make invisible. Then I worked all Sunday evening to curse it and it still wouldn't have lasted more than a day or two. With Malfoy and his goons missing, Yaxley was gearing up to make her move. We only needed her scared for a couple of weeks."

"Of all the Merlin-damned, bollixed-up, bloody awful... GAAH!" Daphne growled in rage and exasperation; Harry and Ron took several hasty steps back. "Are you bloody retarded? Using a curse that kills people by rotting them limb from limb to grandstand? You know what? I'm done trying to explain how tact and calculated, proportionate responses will keep you out of Azkaban." She caught Tracey in a comforting embrace and turned to march off. "See you in Defence, I guess." She said over her shoulder. "If this doesn't blow up in your face come find us in the evening."

"Wow, Daphne sure seemed angry." Ron commented, pausing to chew on a piece of toast he'd brought with him from the Great Hall. "You had it coming, though. Dark Magic is illegal for a reason."

"Oh piss off, Ronald Weasley." The blonde Slytherin growled and stomped off much like her friends, but in the opposite direction. Harry ran after her. They had Herbology in only a few minutes but he'd have to make it up to Professor Sprout later; friends were more important.

"What did happen over the weekend?" He asked once he'd caught up with her, his long practice sessions with Dudley allowing him to easily match her pace. "You all seem, I dunno, on edge. As bad as Wood had been before a tough match, even. Aren't Slytherins supposed to be..."

"Please Harry, not now." They'd reached where the Black Lake met the edge of the Forbidden Forest and they leaned against one of the massive, gnarled, ancient trees, breathing a bit heavily after their sprint. Well, Valeria was. Harry was barely even winded. They stood under the shadow of the great tree in silence, staring at the waters of the lake gleaming in reflected sunlight. Hogwarts loomed in the distance, taking up most of their field of view while still half a mile away.

"Someone hit the Slytherin dungeons with an airborne potion." Valeria finally said uneasily. Either their friends' reactions to her earlier stunt had curbed her usual enthusiasm, or something else bothered her deeply. Harry did not press for answers; it was more likely he'd get hexed instead. "By the time Professor Snape was called in, everyone who'd been inside for the whole time had taken a strong dose, and those who'd dropped in later were also affected. Malfoy and his minions - Merlin, they sound like a silly muggle band - were nowhere to be found and are presumed guilty by most of us. His supporters, those who want to take his place like Yaxley does, and the neutrals... we're in all but open warfare over the incident."

"But why?" Harry demanded, confused. "So Malfoy pulled off some asinine prank to show everyone who's boss then couldn't own up to it. So what? We all know he's a prick... why fight over it?"

"It's not just about that, Harry." His friend sighed tiredly and slid down the tree trunk. "When there's a power vacuum in any competitive situation, there's always a fight on who will fill it. Sometimes it might be disguised such as in Democracies where leaders are supposedly voted on, but it always happens. And in this case there are other factors, such as the incident itself."

"What about it?" He wasn't sure he bought his friend's cynical views, or that he understood why Slytherin House would be so openly divided over them.

"The potion used was unstable, according to Madam Pomfrey. It caused melancholy and despair, anger, even dangerously impulsive behaviour. Professor Snape brewed an antidote we have to take daily for the next two weeks or else we'd all be either catatonic or foaming at the mouth and attacking anything in sight."

"Wow." To to that to an entire House... he'd never see Potions as a needlessly hard and too slow to be useful subject again. "So that's why you're all a bit... crazy?"

"Yeah. Some of us, like Yaxley, got it worse than others. Or she's always been a bitch." She shrugged, a small smile showing on her sad face. "I could never tell."

"Will you be all right?" Being in Slytherin in that kind of situation didn't strike him as very safe. He'd experienced something similar during the whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco but he was a Gryffindor and the Boy-Who-Lived, not a muggleborn in Slytherin. Valeria would be in much greater danger.

"Don't worry about me, Harry." His friend replied, but he could see her relief and happiness that at least one friend had stuck by her that day. He could not blame Tracey for being scared of a deadly curse she'd almost died to before, or Daphne for being angry at Valeria's bold and ambitious to the point of insanity plans. He could blame Ron for being immature, but he chose not to. But he would do much to see his friend happy again, and reckoned Neville would agree. Maybe he should talk to him after Herbology, fill him in on what he'd missed.

"No, Malfoy has to worry about what'll happen when he's found." They both laughed at that and their problems faded a little.

 **xxxx**

Care of Magical Creatures was worse than usual. Hagrid had brought in a batch of hideous monsters that even as newly-hatched, tiny little things, they had several ways to hurt you. Valeria had her suspicions on what the Blast-Ended Skrewts really were, but couldn't confirm them. Tracey was not talking to her; she was way too focused on her conversation with an uncharacteristically unenthusiastic Hagrid. After reading the Skrewts' potential beneficial properties out of a list, the half-giant had warned them to wear their dragonhide gloves, cast repelling charms on their robes that would prevent any mud, blood, slime, or poison from clinging to them, and remember their Shield Charms. Then he'd left them to their own devices and talked with Tracey in hushed tones.

That was very odd. Hagrid had taught them about Firecrabs last year and she knew for a fact he'd brought in a Manticore for several NEWT-level lessons so he should have been much more excited that his oh-so-secret and moderately illegal Manticore-Firecrab hybrids had panned out. Valeria wanted to learn what was wrong with her biggest friend, but couldn't approach him while Tracey was there.

Monsters whose hide was potentially as fireproof and potionproof as Firecrab shells and as magic-resistant as Manticore skin, who could magically produce fire, were amphibious, and had stingers with instantly lethal Manticore venom were very interesting, but Valeria couldn't concentrate on the lesson. The ugliness of the baby Skrewts wasn't stopping her; this morning's deception was far more repulsive. Why did the plan have to affect Daphne and Tracey so badly? Could she have known of Tracey's fears in advance? Possibly... but she'd never bothered to really look into her friends' private life. Some friend she was.

On the other hand, the situation in Slytherin had reached a tipping point. Hostility towards her and her friends had risen dangerously over the weekend alone, and Malfoy seemed to be in control of the entire House. Some of the older students like Yaxley had begun to back him up due to their shared beliefs about blood purity if for nothing else, and sooner or later he'd prepare a much bigger and more effective ambush. Thus the need to ruin his reputation, at least in the short run. The plan to gas the entire House, send him away to make him look guilty and prevent him from spinning the situation to his advantage, and then indirectly spread rumours that he was responsible had worked and the danger of much more serious bullying than in her first year had been averted.

Unfortunately, she'd both had to keep everything from her friends in case they were interrogated, and gas herself after she'd gotten rid of all the evidence so as not to stand out. That too had worked, but not as well as she'd expected. Madam Pomfrey had not managed to find a perfect antidote to her intentionally botched potion and the effects would last for a few days, making the whole House more volatile before things settled down again. That, and Valeria being not nearly as good a friend as she'd previously thought directly led to the fight with Daphne and Tracey...

She'd make amends, she vowed silently, but first she'd have to survive the next couple of hours on her own. The Slytherins had Defence Against the Dark Arts next, and Professor Snape had warned her about the mad ex-Auror that would be their instructor.

 **xxxx**

"Listen here, you pansies." The stocky, ugly man with the crazy magical eye, peg leg, and too many scars commanded. "The Dark Arts are not something you can learn from a book, or the silly schoolyard jinxes you're so very fond of using." He glared at all of them. The Ravenclaws looked affronted at his claim about books not helping, and the Slytherins glared back. Most of them had heard stories about Alastor Moody. Some of them silly, some of them scary, all of them certainly blow out of proportion by rumour... probably. The man had fought in two major wars and sent several of their relatives to Azkaban after all.

"Greengrass!" Daphne jumped at being addressed so, and not only from the suddenness of it; she'd been staring at Valeria from several desks over, a thoughtful frown on her face. "What is the most dangerous, lethal, situationally legal curse in Britain?"

"I don't know, sir." The regal blonde said stiffly.

"Really? Your father being who he is, I find that hard to believe." Daphne's face paled in anger but Moody pretended not to notice. Out of the first in a series of jars he'd prepared for the lesson, he fished out a tiny humanoid figure with a disproportionately large head; a garden gnome.

 _"Atermors!"_

A jagged black bolt launched itself out of Moody's wand, following an erratic path like a cloud of angry insects, and yet unerringly hit the escaping magical pest. The gnome screamed in its tiny voice and fell over, black spots racing out from the point of impact and all over his body. At places his flesh sagged, burst, and thick pus run from the wounds. Less than a minute later the gnome was still, too small to survive such powerful dark magic; it would never move again.

"Casting the Plague Curse is not an immediately Azkaban-worthy offence because the results are treatable today, to a point. Magic can stop the infection from spreading into new victims, and remove it from existing hosts, but cannot cure the damage; only time will do that. Muggles on the other hand cannot cure at all any hosts magically infected, and the same applies to most beings or beasts without access to healing magic or natural regeneration. Thus the curse is legal when fighting such beasts and beings, as well as in Dueling competitions where immediate Healing is available." The class looked at the dead gnome with expressions ranging from disgust to eagerness.

"Zabini!" Moody's voice cracked like a whip. "What is the darkest legal controlling magic?"

"Contractual Binding, sir." The boy said neither loudly nor silently, in a firm voice devoid of expression.

"Ah yes." Moody smirked. "Your mother would know it well, I reckon?" Not getting a response despite Blaize clenching his fists until his nails drew blood, Moody picked up another gnome. He put a crimson-coloured quill in its hand then forced it to use the comically large for it writing implement to sign a sheet of parchment.

 _"Obligo!"_

Casting some sort of powerful but unseen spell on the parchment, he used the Gouging Spell to carve a circle into the classroom's stone floor and put the Gnome inside. "That contract was spelled with a fairly strong Binding and said that the signatory would not cross any circles for the next hour. Since gnomes can't read, let's see what happens."

Predictably, the gnome tried to run for it as soon as it saw nobody was holding it and no obstacle barred its path. As soon as it crossed the circle's edge however, it halted in its tracks and begun to convulse, as if by a seizure. Moments later, it too was dead, bleeding from its eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. "As you can see" Moody said conversationally "The caster of a Contractual Binding sets clauses the signatory must follow, and puts into the contract the magic that will apply should it be breached. The stronger the caster, the more powerful the magical backlash if it's broken and the easier it is to be entered into it. A sufficiently powerful wizard could enter someone into a contract if they had fresh blood or some form of authority over the signatory. In this case, the gnome came from my house and thus, as far as the contract were concerned, belonged to me. Otherwise, I could not have entered it against its will."

Moody waved his hand, and three more gnomes floated out of their jars, only to stand before him. "As Mister Malfoy, Miss Parkinson, and Mister Nott have failed to grace us with their presence, there's little need for theatrics for this last part. Pay attention now."

 _"Crucio! Imperio! Avada Kedavra!"_

The gnome struck by the powerful green flash of the Killing Curse had been hit last but died first, peacefully and silently. The one affected by the invisible power of the Domination Curse clawed out its throat with its own hands, then bled out. The one hit by the Torture Curse screamed and screamed and screamed until it could do so no more. After five minutes, it literally screamed itself to death by suffocation as its lungs and throat collapsed.

"Can any of you tell me what the difference between the Unforgivables, Contractual Binding, and the Plague Curse is?" Moody asked in the silence than followed.

"Nothing but legal fiction, sir." Valeria said, staring at the gnomes. "All of them are dead."

"Your name is Campbell?" He asked, fixing her with both his normal and his magical eyes.

"Yes, sir."

"Class dismissed." Moody growled. "Campbell, stay behind."

Valeria really didn't want to stay in the presence of the very crazy ex-Auror alone but everyone else scrambled to flee; they really didn't want to share her fate. Cowards, the lot of them. As soon as the class emptied, Moody grunted again, made a show of collapsing on his chair, and started fiddling with his peg leg. Valeria waited tensely as the dangerously deranged man removed his leg and started cleaning and fixing it. She was tempted to sit down, bolt towards the door, do anything to break the tense silence, but didn't. Even if Moody hadn't been testing her, she got the impression that turning her back to him was a bad idea.

"What the hell was that business with the bacon during breakfast, Campbell?" He demanded half an hour later.

"Sir?"

"None of that now. We both know you did it to put the Yaxley girl in her place." He snorted. "What do you think Yaxley and her friends will do once they calm down enough to remember you have to sleep?"

"With all due respect, sir, that's none of your business."

"Right." Moody said, almost smiling now. It was scary. "Detention, effective immediately. You gather up the dead gnomes and go bury them by the Forest's edge. No magic, no tools or protection, no help from anyone or I'll have you exhuming them and burying them again. Five gnomes ain't so big you can't do it with your bare hands."

"Yes, sir." She said through gritted teeth. Revolting to most people as it might have been, the task would not be an issue by itself. As someone dabbling in Necromancy she'd handled corpses many times, and preparing ingredients for Potions was even worse. No, the real issue was time; having to do it by hand, it might take the entire afternoon.

How was she going to reconciliate with Daphne and Tracey if she missed their meeting?

 **xxxx**

"I must admit Draco, I am disappointed." Lucius Malfoy said, frowning down at his son. "Not only did you fail before you could even begin, but you and your friends were removed from school through the efforts of a single mudblood."

"Father, we don't know-"

"Silence!" The Malfoy patriarch commanded. "You had arranged that ambush well enough. Who else could it have been? Potter's bitch was alone in her dormitory. Do you know how many expensive restorative potions I've had to waste to cure you and the others of depression? Not to mention all the favours with both the Board of Governors and Severus to ensure you and your friends can return to Hogwarts without repercussions."

The Elder Malfoy had had a plan to teach his son a few things about leadership and extend the Malfoy network of influence at the same time. Things at the Ministry were going well enough - that bitch Bones had enemies on almost every faction - so gathering his strength for a final blow to her administration by the end of the year had been the next move. But now...

"Father please! I can fix this. The new class of graduates will hate or feel contempt for Dumbledore and the Ministry by the end of the year and then..."

"Yes they will." Lucius said, a new plot blossoming in his mind that would overcome this frustrating setback. "Pick one of your friends that is the most trustworthy. If they do the tasks I give them well, you'll be forgiven. If not, I'll take out of your hide every single wasted Knut. I should never have let your mother convince me you needed more time to grow up and mature. Not with Selwyn on the move as he is."

Draco gulped and wondered whether Pansy would agree to help after this debacle. Nott was unreliable, Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid, and the rest of his group would not hesitate to stab him in the back. He hoped her hatred for Potter, Greengrass, and Campbell was greater than her anger for his dragging her into his dismally failed revenge attempt.

If not, he didn't think he'd survive this.


	11. Dominance

**Yay, bonus chapter. Well, not really. I've fallen a bit behind schedule with this story while Potter vs Paradox is a bit ahead, so I decided to post two days in a row. To answer rednaxnalla's question, what makes the Unforgivables unforgivable is nothing more than a law passed on 1717 by then-Minister Damocles Rowle. Not coincidentally, that was when he also insisted on wizarding Britain using Azkaban as a prison, with the first inmates sentenced in 1718. Obviously, the Unforgivables are not unforgivable in other countries even though they might be illegal, because other wizarding countries don't use Azkaban as a prison. They also weren't unforgivable in the many centuries they existed before then, possibly millennia in the case of the Killing Curse since its incantation is proto-Aramaic.**

 **Disclaimer: Was Alastor Moody's ability to see children naked any time he felt like it commented on in the books? If not, I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

Valeria had been right; burying the five dead garden gnomes by hand had taken most of Monday evening. Having missed the meeting with Tracey and Daphne and not feeling up to getting into a fight with the pureblood bigots in the Slytherin common room, she decided to study. Like most students who both knew about magic and were rich enough, she carried the usual assortment of books and school supplies in an expanded purse rather than a school bag. It was one of the few points she agreed with Malfoy and Parkinson on; let the Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and those muggleborn too lazy to research their options lug around a forty-pound school bag that totally cramped their style (and backs). Why didn't everyone charm those huge lumps feather-light after they learned the spell in first year, or shrink them after third-year?

 _"Protego Totalum! Silencio! Repello Bestiam!"_

To Valeria's knowledge, nobody had actually studied in the Forbidden Forest before. Obviously, the need to raise a protective shield that most people couldn't manage before NEWT level and the fact that it was against school rules would put off most students. On the other hand, it beat any place in the castle for secrecy, except the Chamber of Secrets. That was especially true if one ventured further away from the castle than they were supposed to be, moving beyond Hogwarts' defensive enchantments. Not deeper into the forest of course; she didn't want to stumble into some Acromantula colony, run into a Troll tribe, or be chased by a herd of Centaurs. She walked across the edge of the Black Lake instead, enjoying the clean, chilly air, the open, star-strewn sky above the dark waters, the massive aura of magic and vitality beating around her like the Forest's enormous heart.

Casting advanced shield, silence, and repelling charms was practice for Defence and Charms right there. On the other hand, she doubted her Professors would agree, so she took out books, pieces of parchment, and a self-inking dicta-quill and started on various homework assignments. Surprisingly, Moody's was only the second-hardest; a two-foot-long essay on how to defend oneself from the Unforgivables. Professor Snape's essay on antidotes only took the time she needed to dictate it to her quill, and the only homework Hagrid had given them was the Beast-Repelling Charm she'd already learned. Professor Babbling had come down with Vanishing Sickness, so she'd only sent them reading assignments and essays via owl while the recuperated in St. Mungo's. Those, however, were as hard as all the rest of her homework combined. Runic script used individual runes as both letters and as symbols with varied complex meaning. Used as a language in both forms and with the meaning varying with the intent of the writer, it was much harder than learning any foreign language... especially since they would learn how to combine the two forms this year. No wonder they didn't explore practical magical applications of Runes before NEWT level; any errors could be explosively catastrophic. Of course, Valeria was already using the symbol form in enchantment. Not that she'd ever admit that to Professor Babbling any time soon... or ever.

Finishing the essays had taken her a couple of hours, and by then night had well and truly fallen. It was time for some more serious homework. Insane though the Professor might be, Defence with Professor Moody had still been very educational and the assigned essay got her thinking. Pointing her wand at a small beetle gleaming under her candle-strength Lumos as it made its way slowly across the ground, she cast.

 _"Imperio!"_

The Domination Curse had no wand motions or visual components at all, just an incantation their Professor had already given them and the magic and intent behind it. Unfortunately, the beetle failed to start moving in circles as she'd wanted it to. Valeria scowled. Insects were thousands of times smaller than humans and their minds were simple things. She should be able to control one in her first attempt. She liked to believe that she was about at Harry's level where pure magical strength was concerned, or at least close to him... and Harry had banished a hundred dementors at once, a feat the vast majority of adult wizards would have been incapable of. No, something other than power had to be missing but what? Perhaps if... Her lips stretching into a smirk, she imagined the beetle with Malfoy's face, the pureblood dandy being forced to follow her commands.

 _"Imperio!"_

This time the beetle started running in circles immediately, exactly as she had imagined. Elated by her success, she put it through several complicated gymnastics, some of which she'd had no idea were even possible for a six-legged bug. Just as with her initial troubles with basic necromancy last year, the Domination Curse had needed an emotional investment. She had to want it, mean it... which probably was why Dark Magic could be so damaging to one's soul if misused. It could not be used by accident; at some level one had to not only want to cast a given dark spell, but also believe that they should cast it. She doubted one could effectively use powerful Dark Magic out of a sense of righteous anger or selfish fear no matter their strength, or rationalize them as necessary evil. Releasing the beetle from her control, she contemplated why she was trying to learn these spells. To use them against Malfoy? To what end? If she'd really meant to kill the bastard and his minions she wouldn't have mailed the package of shrunk Slytherins; she'd have cast it into the fireplace in the common room and cast a silencing charm over it. Shrunk at that size, a human would burn to ash in minutes and leave little evidence. And if she really meant to control them, she'd dose them all with Unctuous Unction and that would be that. Shrunk at that size, they'd only need a few drops of potion to be affected.

No, Valeria was learning the spells because of who and what she was. She was a witch, and magic was an extension of herself. Not learning a spell because of how it could be used would be like cutting off a hand because it could pick up a knife and cut someone's throat; utterly absurd. The purebloods paid lip-service to their pride of being magical but what they really meant was that they wanted to retain control of wizarding society. That was why they put far greater effort into politics and economics than actually wielding magic. The Ministry was built upon the Statute of Secrecy and the rule of Law, and everyone in it put law and government ahead of magic as well. The witch on the street just wanted to live her life in relative peace with her family; Molly Weasley was proof enough of that. The number of wizards that actually wanted to learn magic because it was magic was depressingly small. Harry was one of the few who still saw magic as something truly exciting and awe-inspiring, his involvement with Tom Riddle and wizarding politics, and all the troubles that plagued him the only things marring his love for magic. It was one of the main reasons Valeria was his friend, something she'd realized only last year.

The beetle made a run for it. The young Slytherin witch silently vowed to learn magic, all of it that she could. She was a witch and had the unalienable right to do everything to better her craft, and to improve the wizarding world's view of the values of magic itself. They were witches and wizards damn it, not baboons brandishing sticks and aping the spectacularly corrupt society of muggles except with a bit of magic as a sideshow! If nobody else wanted to learn magic for magic's sake, Valeria would do it herself. As for those that believed a muggleborn had no right to wield magic, who thought muggleborns responsible for their own waning powers when they did nothing to become better witches and wizards? Valeria's wand whipped down sharply in a jagged line like a lightning bolt.

 _"Avada Kedavra!"_

A neon-green bolt as thick as her wrist struck out at the beetle, killing it instantly and burning a six-inch-wide circle into the grass.

 **xxxx**

"We need to talk."

From what Harry had overheard from older male students, that was one of the worst things a girl could say to a boy. He had no idea why though; it was perfectly innocent. Perhaps trusting the collective wisdom of Fred and George was not very wise to begin with and seeing no other reasons not to, he nodded in agreement and followed Daphne to a less crowded place than the Great Hall in Friday morning.

"Herbology, huh?" He asked the Slytherin girl as soon as he saw Daphne's linen-wrapped left hand and smelled the characteristic stench of Bubotuber pus that clung even after a thorough cleaning.

"You have no idea." Daphne groaned, leaning against a wall. "Somehow, a drop of that vile substance managed to get under my dragonhide glove. My skin sprouted boils the size of walnuts, which was horrible enough by itself, but then the glove got stuck and wouldn't come off. Being dragonhide, it took Madam Pomfrey an hour to cut through it without mangling my hand in the process." She shook her head. "After the OWLS, I'm leaving Herbology to you peons and your masochistic love for manual labour."

"Aw, that'll totally hurt Neville's feelings." Harry said with a smile. The platinum-haired pureblood heiress was cute when she was whining. Too bad she didn't do it more often. "It could have been worse, you know. You could have taken Care of Magical Creatures."

"Thanks, but no thanks." She rolled her eyes at him. "You and Valeria convinced me long ago that Hagrid is a good man and he usually means well, but Manticore-Firecrab hybrids?"

"Yeah, the Skrewts are a bit... wait, what hybrids?"

"Really? You haven't talked to Tracey since Monday?" The taller girl's pale eyebrows rose and Harry could not tell if she was reprimanding him or mocking him. "If you ever want someone to talk your ear off about magical creatures, Tracey's your girl. Since she's also our friend, what were you and Weasley thinking staying away for so long?"

"She didn't look like she wanted to talk, all right?" Harry went immediately on the defensive but that excuse sounded lame even in his mind. He couldn't come out and say that he and Ron preferred to stay out of it when the girls fought because it made them so uncomfortable and conflicted.

"Boys!" Daphne responded in exasperation. "You wouldn't know how to handle emotions if your life depended on it!"

Harry didn't find anything to say to that so he remained silent.

"Anyway, pus and Skrewts wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about." She pushed off the wall and turned to look into his eyes. Daphne's proximity made him a bit uncomfortable, and the way she looked down at him reminded Harry that he wasn't the tallest of boys while she was a very tall girl. Even a slight downwards glance could be considered inappropriate and, knowing the pureblood heiress, grounds to hexing.

"What do you think of Moody?"

The question brought Harry out of his contemplation of... err... hexes as quickly as a bucked of cold water would have. What did Moody have to do with any of this?

"He's a competent Professor, I suppose." When in doubt, tell the truth. Or stall. Preferably both. "Harsh though; he showed us the Unforgivable Curses. He's not as bad as Snape though. Neville reacted badly and he kept him after the lesson for a talk. Praised his Herbology skills and gave him a rare book, too."

"So you don't have anything against him?" His friend demanded, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Daphne, we had Unforgivables used against us as recently as last year. Hell, we saw Inferi!" What did Daphne want and why was she angry? Was it that gas she and the other Slytherins were exposed to, scrambling her mind again? Should he take her to Madam Pomfrey? "It's good that we have a Professor that knows his stuff; learning to defend ourselves better is something we need, you know?"

"Gah, I can't believe this!" She threw her hands in the air and turned away from him. "You're such a boy, Potter!" Then the crazy girl stalked off.

What had he done now?

 **xxxx**

"Daphne, Tracey, can we talk?"

It had been several days since Valeria had talked to her female friends despite sharing a dorm with them. Over the past week she'd avoided the rest of Slytherin as much as possible, started a new batch of illegal potions that would be ready for selling by the time of the first Hogsmeade visit, practised the Area Shield Charm, the Foe-Warning Spell, and the Domination Curse, and mined a certain Diary for information. But however much she learned and however many times she used her Time-Turner to her advantage, a part of her always wanted to reconnect with her friends.

Transfiguration had been a three-way race between her, Daphne, and Padma Patil of Ravenclaw for which of them would transform their guinea fowl to a guinea pig. Both Valeria and Daphne were still angry with each other and had concentrated far too hard. Daphne had not managed to transform her guinea fowl at all but had somehow made a guinea pig appear out of thin air, squeal loudly enough to rattle the classroom's windows in the frames, and then explode in a torrent of flesh, blood, and bone. Valeria had managed to turn her normal guinea fowl into one made of white-hot flames that had incinerated several desks during its escape attempt and nearly managed to melt a hole into the stone floor before Professor McGonagal had managed to snuff it out. No amount of magic had been able to restore the burned desks, and the Head of Gryffindor had been forced to conjure new ones for them and assign the two girls extra practice. Moments after their humiliation before the Slytherin and Ravenclaw fourth years, Padma had finished the spell perfectly.

Herbology had been a disaster, through no fault of their own. One of the Slytherins had hit Valeria's Bubotuber with a Stinging Hex, causing it to explode. Most of the pus had been stopped by her ever-present shield, but several droplets hit random targets all over the greenhouse. The Ravens blamed the Snakes of course and Daphne, whose left hand had somehow gotten hit despite the dragonhide gloves she'd been wearing, had run to the Infirmary after shooting Valeria an inscrutable gaze. Not having seen who'd been responsible for the prank, Professor Sprout fairly gave all of them extra homework.

By the time Wednesday and their Charms lesson came around, everyone in Slytherin knew of the falling out between the three Slytherin girls and were determined to take advantage of it. Professor Flitwick had them doing revision on the Seize-and-Pull Charm, a short-range combination of summoning, banishing, and Levitation. All three girls were "accidentally" pelted by random projectiles, ranging from the pillows everyone was supposed to be practising on to the occasional heavy book. With their Shield Charms up they weren't in any particular danger, but it was annoying. Tracey had finally seized the bookcase behind Bulstrode and tipped it over, dropping hundreds of books on the large girl's head and claiming an accidentally botched spell when her target complained to Professor Flitwick. The harassment had become less overt after that and had stopped only after Valeria used a silent combination of Accio and Depulso to make it look like Blaize had summoned Pansy's bra. Nobody believed Zabini when he complained, partly because he didn't look very unhappy with the situation.

Worst of all, the day before had seen the return of Draco Malfoy and his minions to the castle's everyday life. They had been "found" by Filch the Caretaker magically asleep and locked up in one of the seventh floor broom closets. Professor Snape had declared that they'd been dosed with Draught of Living Death and had no traces of the despair potion in their system. Thus, they had been cleared of all charges due to their fake alibi, and Valeria's efforts to set them up had failed. The biggest problem was that Draco Malfoy didn't have enough skill in either Potions or subterfuge to purge himself of Valeria's concoction and set up his own alibi; someone was helping him, someone with considerable influence over Professor Snape.

In short, not only did Val miss her friends, but her and their safety depended on their rebuilding a unified front.

"Hey Val." Tracey greeted her hesitantly. "Look, I'm sorry for reacting as I did..."

"No Tracey. It was my fault. If I knew more about your family I could have..."

"No you couldn't." The mousy brunette sniffed. "If I weren't so secretive and slow to trust. I mean, I should have more faith in my friends..."

"You're both idiots." Daphne said with her arms crossed, the very picture of annoyed big sister. "I'd tell you to kiss and make up but only Tracey swings that way."

"Daphne!" The girl in question screeched like a banshee even as her face turned as red as Ron's hair.

"What?" The more sensible of the trio demanded. "You just said you should have more faith in your friends. I've known for ages. When were you going to tell Valeria?"

"Look, it's no big deal." Valeria said, trying to defuse the situation. "I admit I was surprised, what with how you behave towards Ron, but if I have no trouble being friends with three boys, why would I have an issue with you?" She did feel a little bit awkward but that was her problem, not Tracey's. Especially after how she'd acted the weekend before.

"So you have no problem with kissing and making up?" Daphne asked slyly to their supreme embarrassment.

"Who are you and what have you done with Daphne Greengrass?" Tracey demanded, still a little red in the face.

"Don't worry, Trace." Valeria said, embracing the other girl in a sisterly manner. "Our Daphne has Potter troubles." She stage-whispered.

"Shut up." The tall, regal girl commanded. "Now that we're all here, it's time we decided how to tackle our greatest, most dire problem to date."

"How do you know about Norberta?" Tracey yelped, and Valeria stared at her in surprise. Was something wrong with Hagrid's pet fire-breathing nightmare?

"Well, I thought the biggest problem was Malfoy." She said and shrugged. "But if Hagrid lost control of that dragon..."

"No, our problem is worse than that." Daphne shuddered and both her friends' eyebrows rose in surprise. The ice princess, the girl who'd fought in magical battles and had been trained in Dueling since before coming to Hogwarts was afraid?

"You noticed how Moody uses a magical eye, yes?" She almost snarled, and Valeria knew then she'd been wrong. Daphne was not afraid; she was furious. "What are we going to do about the pervert who's looking through our clothes every chance he gets?"


	12. Resources

**The situation is a little bit more complicated than what it appears to be, hence Tracey's occasional flirting and teasing with all the others. This is more of a setup for future chapters but don't worry; the action should pick up soon enough. And it does give some hints at things happening in the background. As for Moody/Crouch Jr, I see the former checking everyone for weapons all the time, and the latter being more than a little bit err... attention-starved. He was sent to prison as a teenager after all.**

 **A bit thank you to everyone who favored and reviewed. You guys are very supportive and we writers practically feed on reviews Dementor-style, you know.**

 **Disclaimer: Did the Golden Trio ever try to replicate very useful items like the Marauder's Map or the Two-Way Mirrors for their use despite having "the smartest witch of her generation" among their number? If not, I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **xxxx**

Monday morning found Daphne and Valeria in the Muggle Studies class having a belated first lesson for the year, and curious as to what special project Professor Burbage would introduce them to. The muggle-loving fool had been probably working on new ways to convince them to see how wizards and muggles were not so different after all and how they should abandon "parochial" wizarding traditions and embrace the muggle way of life. Her attitude could not have been more offensive to the Pureblood scions in her class if she'd been doing it on purpose. Unfortunately, most families of importance in wizarding Britain needed or wanted their children to do Muggle Studies for various reasons. Some had underhanded business arrangements with the muggle underworld. Others chose to exploit the muggle economy to increase their own fortune, the Malfoys chief among them. More than a few had seen their family manors swallowed by the growth of the city of London over the centuries and now had to share a street with muggles - not that the muggles were aware of it. Last but certainly not least, Death Eaters needed to know about muggles to be effective in hunting them and the muggleborns that might try to hide among them... which meant the two Slytherin girls shared this class with more than a few Death Eater spawn.

"By now you should all have a general idea of the basic Muggle advancements that separate us from them; electricity, heat engines, and guns." Professor Burbage was saying in her annoyingly friendly voice. Not even Flitwick was that cheerfully condescending; it sounded as if she were speaking to five-year-olds. "Last year, your special projects revolved around procuring a muggle device, presenting it to your fellow students, and explaining how it works. This year, while the theory will focus more on muggle culture, your projects would involve taking a muggle device from a given collection and improving it with magic in any way you can manage." With an indulgent smile, the short-haired, middle-aged witch flicked her wand at the empty-seeming teacher's desk and dozens of muggle devices appeared as the Disillusionment Charm was lifted.

"So that's why we started late." Nott mumbled in disgust from Daphne's left. "Bitch had to struggle with herself before giving up her beloved collection of muggle filth for our projects."

"If you don't like it here Nott, do leave." Daphne hissed back. "No one forced you to take this class."

"Actually Greengrass, my father did." The small, rat-like boy said, glowering at nobody in particular. "He needs me to learn the basics before he hires someone to tutor me in muggle economics so I won't embarrass the family."

"Aww... Daddy doesn't have time to tutor you himself?" She mocked him, knowing the boy could do nothing about it in class or elsewhere. Since he'd practically declared himself their enemy by openly allying with Malfoy, their families were economic rivals, and he had always hated her and Tracey as far back as she could remember, she wasn't losing any opportunities by being... unpleasant. And an angry enemy could make mistakes. "His son comes after his being Malfoy's follower, is it? My, my, my, how the importance of family has diminished among some so-called Purebloods."

"Shut up, Greengrass." He spat back, his face as red as Weasley hair. "You, the dyke, and the mudblood will get your just deserts soon enough."

"Whatever, Nott." She said dismissively, trying not to show any reaction to either that information or his blunder. "I have better things to do than worry about empty threats." She left the uncouth, inbred, dim-witted flunky behind and approached Professor Burbage's collection of old muggle paraphernalia. Valeria was already searching the pile of antiques and rubbish haphazardly thrown together for something, and Daphne had a good idea what.

"Find any guns, yet?" She asked with a small smile. Not even Charity Burbage would be stupid enough to let the surprisingly elitist muggleborn divert her message of the superiority of muggle ethics and their peaceful, moral culture for a second year in a row.

"I have." The shorter blonde snorted and showed Daphne a gun much smaller, simpler, and older than the one she'd brought to class last year. The dull dark grey of its metal had turned red-brown in places and the... barrel was it? It was battered and bent. "Colt .45. This one is older than Dumbledore and in need of serious repair." She cheerfully took it, wrote down her name on the project list and waited for Daphne to choose her own muggle device.

"You can't be serious." Daphne whispered as she searched through a pile of muggle radios and cameras, two of the few muggle inventions wizards had widely adopted. She wanted to see if there were any small steam or even petrol engines. With the Hogwarts Express stationed in Hogsmeade when not in use, it should be easy to check the spellwork on its massive engine and adapt it to a smaller project without having to do the research from scratch. "You know Burbage is baiting you with this thing, right? If it doesn't work or isn't impressive enough, she'll happily give you a failing grade."

"What Charity Burbage knows about guns would fit in the margins of my old homework planner." Her friend said dismissively. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for the opportunity to experiment without running afoul of Arthur Weasley and his people in the Ministry? Speaking of which..."

"Professor, isn't enchanting Muggle devices restricted by Law?" Valeria asked, drawing everyone's attention.

"Don't worry, Miss Campbell." The middle-aged witch's eyes gleamed with anticipation at what her most problematic student had picked as her project. "Hogwarts is given considerable leeway when it comes to student projects. Otherwise, you could hardly develop variant Potions or Charms at NEWT level, or work with plant or magical creature hybrids. Any of your projects will be legal... as long as you don't use illegal types of magic, that is."

Their messing-with-the-Professor quota full for the day, Daphne chose a muggle car model then dragged her friend to a corner of the chaotic classroom and handed over a piece of parchment with a written message when nobody was paying attention.

 _Nott knows about Tracey. Listening Charms?_

 **xxxx**

Double Divination was a bust, Harry thought. Trelawney had them doing various calculations off their Horoscopes, which was way too complex and verifiable for him and Ron to simply cheat their way through. He wasn't entirely certain Trelawney knew the stuff herself; she'd horribly misjudged Harry's own date of birth after all. But in the off chance she could tell they were just making the numbers up, they actually had to do the calculations. The only people in class that seemed to be making good progress, or at least weren't grumbling under their breaths when they messed up some calculation or other, were Parvati, Lavender, and Valeria. The bookish Slytherin was focused on a piece so full of strange symbols and weird numbers that she'd forgotten to talk back to Trelawney as she usually did. Curious and fed up with the lack of progress in his own work, he glanced at her parchment. The letters and symbols he could actually read on it were few and far between, most of the rest written in a combination of Runes he couldn't decipher.

 _Midwinter? Uranus? 31121926. Path 7. Tiger. Essence link? Doesn't add up - check with Diary._

"That's private, Harry." She hissed at him, wrapping up her parchment faster than he could blink. "Mind your own business!"

"Come on, Val!" Ron interjected in a whisper, keeping an eye on Trelawney. "For you this math stuff is easy! We only ask for a bit of help."

"And if I keep helping you, you'll never learn. If I can do it with not a single drop of talent in Divination, then so can you. If you ever get your lazy arses into gear." She turned her back to them and focused on her calculations.

"What's up with her, mate?" Ron wondered as they both tried and failed to navigate through the mess of planets, constellations, and their meanings. "I mean, the whole mess in Slytherin might be bad but she's never been like that before. Not unless you count the first half of our first year."

"Daphne told me they found some Listening Charms on their robes." Harry told the other Gryffindor boy, his lips barely moving. It would be best if... Trelawney didn't overhear. Yeah... couldn't have the Professor know they weren't paying attention. "They were so well hidden the girls didn't notice someone was spying on them immediately. That's how the rumour about Tracey got started... I think Val blames herself, or something."

"She's mental, mate." Ron looked at the girl in question worriedly. "I mean, Malfoy could have gotten a seventh-year to cast those. We're fourth-years, we don't know everything about magic." Ron was right but somehow, Harry couldn't see their friend accepting that.

As the Double Divination lesson ended and they all fled Trelawney's unnaturally hot, smoke-filled classroom that smelled suspiciously like some strong alcoholic drinks, Valeria caught up with them and pulled them aside. "We need to meet. At seven o'clock, go to the disused bathroom on the seventh floor behind the painting of Valeria Myriadd in the Gryffindor reading room. Tell Neville, too."

"That's in Gryffindor Tower." Ron stated with a frown. "How are you, Daphne, and Tracey going to get in?"

"We girls have our ways." The blonde Slytherin said with a wink, then run off.

"Blimey... Slytherins knowing how to enter our common room." Ron complained. "That ain't right!"

"At least they're our friends." Harry reminded him, not much less apprehensive than Ron at this turn of events.

 **xxxx**

"You're late." Tracey said sullenly when Valeria entered the disused bathroom later that evening. The others were all there, waiting for her before the discussion begun.

"A witch is never late, Tracey Davis." She countered, handing the Marauder's Map over to Harry and placing various items pertinent to the evening's meeting in a defunct wash basin caked with grime. "Nor is she-"

"Finish mangling that quote and you'll be speaking in Akkadian for a week." Tracey threatened, not amused in the least. She was glummer and mousier than usual, and had not bothered with her usual understated make-up.

"If you're done pretending to be five-year-olds, we can get this meeting started." Daphne said irritably. "We're here because the school year has barely started and we're already hip-deep in danger."

"What do you mean?" Neville asked. Of all of them, the formerly timid Gryffindor had changed the most over the past few months. He was no longer afraid to voice his opinions, for one. "There wasn't another Death Eater attack, was there?"

"We have problems closer to home, Nev." Tracey smiled a bit sadly. "For example, Moody is putting all his classes from fourth year to seventh under the Imperius Curse this week."

"WHAT?" Ron gasped. "But... but that's illegal! He can't do it!"

"So now we know why he was forced into retirement. Problem is, the upperclassmen are saying he's got permission from Dumbledore this time so..." Tracey shrugged. "Life is full of disappointments, Weasley. Being put under the Imperius by crazy ex-aurors, never finding a girlfriend, being hunted by murderous immortal psychopaths... take your pick."

"Nott also let slip that something bad is brewing in our House." Daphne added. "Malfoy will certainly have it in for all of us after his latest failed ambush, especially you two." She pointed to Harry and Valeria, though it wasn't really necessary. "You are the biggest threat to him, if for different reasons, and neither of you is exactly err... subtle or cautious." Ron and Tracey snickered. Harry's face reddened in embarrassment. Valeria just rolled her eyes.

"Look, Malfoy is a prick but he isn't that dangerous." Harry said. "Worse comes to worst, invisible snakes can be pretty scary."

"Won't work." Daphne told him in a tone that said _'See? You're always charging ahead without thinking.'_ "Moody has that eye of his that can see through just about anything. Why do you think Fred and George have stopped pranking people?"

"Do you have a better idea then?" Harry demanded, more annoyed with Daphne's attitude than what she said.

"We could use the Marauder's Map to avoid ambushes. It is working fine now." Valeria interrupted before another argument could begin. Honestly, those two. They'd begun to argue like a married couple lately. "I tried to see how it works, so we could replicate it even."

"Did you manage it?" The Gryffindor redhead asked eagerly. "Blimey, what we could do if we had one of those maps each!"

"Unfortunately, it's not really a map." Valeria said, crushing Ron Weasley's dreams of mischief. "It's key functions are based off three enchantments. One is a modified Homunculus Charm, creating the animated representations of people. The second is a very powerful Homenum Revelio effect, keyed to Hogwarts; that's what provides the information the Homunculus Charm displays. And the map itself is made via a Personality Investment spell."

"A what, now?"

"It's a spell to give an object a measure of intelligence by copying parts of the caster's identity." Tracey said before Valeria could. "It's a form of advanced Mind Magic."

"You mean... like Riddle's diary?" Harry said, seeing the Marauder's Map in a new light.

"Not really." Valeria corrected him. "The Marauders had two options. Either put in hundreds, maybe thousands of individual spells to program the map to act as they wanted, or cast a single collective spell to have it think a bit like they did and act appropriately. They didn't write the map in ink either; as the castle changes all the time that would be impossible. But with their knowledge of the castle in it, the Map writes itself as the castle should be at any given day and hour, gives you directions, even helps you find the secret passages and their passwords."

"That's awesome." Ron exclaimed. "So... why can't we do it?"

"That kind of enchantment isn't easy to cast, Ron." She explained. "It took four strong fifth-year students months of work to lay down those three spells and it probably was at the limit of their combined abilities. I can't do it on my own now, and probably for years to come, and the only other member of our group good with Mind Magic is Tracey. The rest of you can barely manipulate single memories, let alone years' worth of knowledge."

"Besides, we can't copy it anyway." Tracey added. "We don't have the personality of the original casters to draw from, or their memories. We might eventually make maps that think like us and know as much about Hogwarts as we do but not another Marauders' Map. It would be like trying to make a living portrait of someone we've never known and who's long since passed away."

"Oh..." Harry's expression fell at the mention of living portraits; he was probably thinking about his parents. "Got anything else we could use against Malfoy?" He said in a false cheerful tone that fooled no-one.

"I think I could actually copy your mirrors, Neville." Valeria said to the blond Gryffindor, letting Harry calm down a bit. "Turns out two-way mirrors are an advanced use of the Protean Charm."

"Really? Those things are expensive. Gran made sure I couldn't break them even if I tried, you know." She did; the pair she'd been using to contact Daphne had taken up two months' worth of allowance.

"Well, I'd first have to work with the charm till I could cast it perfectly. Then it would be a matter of enchanting the mirrors properly." She smiled. "Maybe a few months or work before I could pull it off." Everybody groaned at that. "What?" she asked innocently. "Major magic is a lot of work."

"We don't have a few months - Malfoy and his goons could attack us tomorrow!"

"Then you should probably learn the spells I'm using, Ron." She said imperiously. "Homenum Revelio, Cave Inimicum, and Protego Totalum should give you both enough warning and enough defences to get out of most ambushes."

"Great, more homework." The redhead groaned exaggeratedly.

"You know Weasley..." Tracey said, smirking at him. "There are great wizards and lazy wizards, but no great lazy wizards."

Honestly! Would it kill him to work off all that food for once?


	13. Plotting Control

**Yay, plots within plots. Things are not always as they appear to be, are they? As several people pointed out, some things did not make sense in the last chapter. Hopefully, they make a bit more sense now. Meneldur: Don't worry. Our heroes are not as naive as they'd once been and even Harry is a bit better informed than his canon counterpart. Lance Corporal Avocado: Potterverse magic has rules. Think less Dungeons and Dragons and more Magic: the Gathering. Each individual spell functions in its own way, spells in the same sphere of magic share traits, methods, and some rules, and magic overall has some basic laws in how it is used - such as how powerful/skilled you need to be to cast a given spell, how spells interact with natural laws, what qualities matter in magic and are fundamental in spell-casting and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, the canon books don't show us the theory because it wasn't important in the story and because Harry doesn't care about it much; he can afford to cast by rote and will alone because he has a stronger will than most. As for the Diary, what you said about sympathetic magic applies. But also, the Diary has a piece of soul, making it a person one can influence, persuade, intimidate. Val is also controlling it with threats and torture, not just magic.  
**

 **Disclaimer: despite having been the target of thieves at least once, did Harry ever protect his trunk with magic? If not, I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

 _"Calcifors!"_

Neville's beloved plant specimen flickered and deflated, seemingly imploding to the size of a Sickle. The Gryffindor boy watched on anxiously as they turned the Moly to a small round pebble the colour of rust. It was not the first time they'd performed this experiment, and not all previous attempts had been successful. Daphne and, surprisingly, Harry himself had managed the complex magical plant to stone Transfiguration perfectly after a couple initial botched attempts. Valeria had done much better from the start thanks to her better understanding of theory and far greater time spent practising Transfiguration in general. In fact she'd been the one to suggest that if magical reagents or even potions could be vanished as they'd seen in Potions, there was no reason other types of Transfiguration could not be applied to them. Despite all that however, she still fell a bit short of perfecting this magic, succeeding nine times out of ten. Tracey couldn't manage the spell well enough for the Moly to survive the process and neither did Ron, though how hard he was really trying only he knew. Neville could do it, but only if he took ten minutes to painstakingly transfigure it in stages, changing one leaf or root at the time. Since the whole process was meant to be done in advance though, that was hardly a major issue.

"Val, it's all yours." Harry said once he'd completed the change with no apparent mistakes.

 _"Finite Suspensus!"_

Turning a charm into a single-use contingency on a specific trigger when the basic charm had not been created with such an option was quite advanced magic; Valeria had been very surprised when the Twin Terrors, also known as Fred and George, had used it against her last year and had been attempting it ever since. The Finishing Charm was the first bit of magic she was certain of her skill in modifying well enough to use on live subjects.

"All yours, Neville." She handed the transfigured and then spelled Moly-stone to the blond Gryffindor. "Don't try to force it down if the change fails; we'll just try the next one."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one growing them." Neville complained then smiled to show he didn't really mean it, and swallowed the small stone. Then he chewed a few times, and swallowed. "I think it worked this time!" He said excitedly once he was done. "Hit me! Hit me!" Daphne obliged.

 _"Stupefy!"_

The crimson beam hit Neville in the back before he could react and... had no effect at all! Valeria hit him next with a Full Body Bind, which also failed. As it had done in Malfoys ambush the boys had saved her, Daphne, and Tracey from, the magical plant conferred a temporary protection against harmful enchantments... despite it having been Transfigured into stone for a time.

"It works!" Neville exclaimed happily. "Now we can work on prolonging the safe storage time, learning to transfigure more plants, even colour-coding their transfigured forms so we can tell which is which. Do you know how much more efficient this will be over simple shrinking in all kinds of Herbology applications?" Before Valeria could reply, Neville had glomped her and now held her off the ground repeatedly saying 'thank you, thank you, thank you!'

"Ack... Neville... can't breathe..." While she had the dubious pleasure of being the smallest among their little group, edging out Harry and Tracey by a very small margin, Neville stood only an inch below Ron and was much stockier, meaning she'd just found herself in a crushing hug of David vs Goliath proportions. Luckily for her continued survival, the Gryffindor boy realized what was going on and let her down as if she'd been living lightning. His face even went crimson, though not because of any physical burn; everybody else's snickers had more to do with it. Note to self; practice a contingent _Relashio_ Charm next.

"Malfoy won't know what hit him!" Neville declared, and Valeria was relieved they'd appropriately dealt with all the listening charms already or they'd be sharing their secret weapons with the enemy. "We'll be invincible!"

 _"Expelliarmus! Wingardium Leviosa!"_

Neville's wand went flying, and the blond boy found himself dangling upside down with Ron's wand pointed at him. "What was that, Neville? I didn't hear you!"

"Oh come on, Ron, put him down!" Harry asked, ever the mediator.

"Oh well. It was fun while it lasted." Ron ended his Levitation Charm and Neville fell to the ground. "Important chess truth; if you think you're invincible, you're missing something."

"That doesn't only apply to your little hobby, Weasley." Tracey said snidely before turning to Valeria and Neville. "I thought the Moly would stop any enchantments witches and wizards of our level were likely to cast. What went wrong?" To her (and everyone's) surprise, it was Ron that answered her question.

"It only stops enchantments on the target. Those spells merely apply force." Ron shrugged. "Val mentioned that last time."

"And you not only remembered but used it?" Tracey exclaimed with obvious incredulity. "That's an amazing show of intelligence from you, Weasley."

"Always the tone of surprise." The redhead shook his head. "It's just good tactics, like chess. I mean... it was pretty obvious, no?"

"Too bad Moly won't work against the _Imperius._ " Neville lamented. "We have DADA next and I don't feel like going. Unless anyone knows a trick to resist an Unforgivable?" His eyes lingered hopefully on Harry and Valeria, expecting some mad but brilliant plan. Unfortunately, Valeria had to disappoint her friend. Unless Moody allowed them to block it, there were no tricks once one was hit and the only way she'd found to improve her resistance was not something she could share with Neville or anyone else.

"New plan." Daphne suddenly stated in a tone that brooked no arguments. "We're going to feed all our plans, plots, and tactics to the redhead and see if he finds anything else obvious that we missed. Consider yourself conscripted, Ronald." And she pulled the Gryffindor boy closer with a Summoning Charm before he could make his escape.

For all the complaints and grumbling that followed, Valeria was sure Ron had nothing against Daphne's idea.

 **xxxx**

"Ah yes." Moody said sarcastically. "The noble and prestigious House of Slytherin." He smirked nastily at them, his expression all the more frightening for his many disfigurements and prosthetics, especially that magical eye of his. Valeria was not the only girl to shudder, especially with how the pervert licked his lips in anticipation. Over a week's worth of discussions and they'd yet to find a way to get rid of their new Defence Professor. Daphne's parents were unavailable as they had yet to fully recover form their ordeal during the World Cup. Tracey's family didn't care... no. Actually, they'd have tried to get Moody to share the spellwork on his eye with them so they could humiliate and blackmail their half-blooded heiress. Augusta Longbottom wholeheartedly supported Moody and his showing them the Unforgivables and wouldn't hear a word about his removal. He was an old friend of Dumbledore's, wasn't he?. The Weasleys might have been supportive - if Ginny Weasley hadn't been entirely unwilling to listen to any Slytherins, or they'd shared their problem with Ron... and that was never going to happen. Without other Weasleys to pass on the message, they'd never take the words of three Slytherin girls over that of Albus Dumbledore. And Valeria's parents were muggles with no influence whatsoever in the muggle world.

"Let's see how your ambition and determination serves you when it comes to someone else attempting to control you." Moody cackled. "But of course, we already have the answer to that from your parents. None of them could resist the Imperius Curse... or so they claimed." He brandished his wand threateningly then pointed it at Pansy. "Parkinson! Front and centre!"

 _"Imperio!"_

Valeria had rarely felt sorry for Pansy before, but being forced to stand before the rest of the class and recite her intentions towards Malfoy in great detail and with a silly, dreamy expression was not something she'd wish upon her worst enemy. Well, maybe Tom Riddle... but there wasn't anyone alive that could put him under the Domination Curse. Or was there?

"Theo Nott! Front and centre!" The disagreeable, rat-faced boy cursed the name of his House, and swore he'd marry a muggleborn. Nobody found this display amusing at all, least of all the muggleborn on the receiving end of his false affection. Moody's normal eye was fixed upon her as she did the best she could not to burn down half the class with Fiendfyre then and there... the half Moody was in. With his peg leg and Hogwarts' anti-apparition enchantments he'd never escape in time.

"Draco Malfoy! Front and centre!" The blond ponce managed to resist Moody's Imperius for nearly half a minute, struggling with himself all the time. In the end, the mad ex-Auror's skill with the curse proved stronger than his will, and the so-called prince of Slytherin had to pretend to be a ferret. It suited him, Valeria thought, and was about to call out the ponce's new nickname when Moody released the curse. Draco's normally beautiful face had become such a mask of hatred that Valeria was sure he could power a Killing Curse if he tried.

"Valeria Campbell! Front and centre!" The muggleborn Slytherin sighed and walked to the little stage the mad Professor had set. Moments later, as Pansy giggled nastily and Draco's eyes gleamed with anticipation, the familiar Nirvana-like state of the Domination Curse settled upon her. Under it there existed no thoughts but the caster's will and most any witch or wizard would happily obey the little voice in the back of their head commanding them as the caster desired. It was not a contest of wills as many believed for the Imperius was a curse, not Mind Magic. After all, if the caster had to struggle with the victim's will all the time, controlling someone like that would be next to useless. No, as Valeria had discovered the strength of the curse was used to overcome the target's will instead, and resisting was as hard as resisting any magic without a wand.

 _"Kiss Theo Nott."_

Valeria walked up to the small boy with not a care in the world, eyes unblinking. That part was annoying. Couldn't Moody have cast the curse well enough that his victims acted naturally? She'd have to use some restorative eye drops after this. Nott guessed what was about to happen, or Moody had announced it for the class, the bug-eyed bastard. Unfortunately for both, this wasn't Valeria's first time under the curse. She would have resisted the command but made a fool of herself had it been so. By the fifth time she'd been put under however, she could snap out of it reliably. By the hundredth... she smirked at an expectant Nott then kneed him between the legs.

"Sorry, Professor. The intended target was too ugly." She said as Nott writhed on the ground and everyone else gaped at her. "Do you want me to try with Zabini instead?" A few of the girls laughed at that, including Parkinson. The boys weren't nearly as happy, except for the aforementioned Italian prince who was giving her a calculating but not at all angry stare.

"Sit down Campbell! Twenty points from Slytherin for making fun of such an important lesson!" Moody barked, both his eyes fixed on her. What did he expect, that nobody would prepare once they learned he intended to use Unforgivables on them? Turning the Imperius against oneself was normally hard to do as it wasn't something you could do directly and the curse passed through normal shields instead of being deflected. It would bounce off a sufficiently thick and durable inanimate surface though, not that Valeria had needed to resort to such tricks. One could hardly study the Imperius curse without using it against one's past or future self after all.

"A three-foot essay on how to best resist the Imperius, and what outside factors can improve or diminish one's resistance." Moody shouted at them once the rest of the class had been tested. Daphne had some resistance and could learn to snap out of it with prolonged exposure, but Tracey had almost foiled Moody's first attempt and completely thrown it off by the sixth. It made Valeria feel guilty that she hadn't tried to help her friends build up their resistance, but the law did not allow for any excuse. Had Dumbledore, Moody, Malfoy, or anyone else who wished them ill realized what they were doing or worse, caught them in the act, they could blackmail them for their entire lives. And putting her friends in such a position was something she'd never do.

"Let's go find the boys." Tracey said dully, having said not a single word about the lesson they'd had. Was mind-controlling magic something her family had used against her before? Was this why she was both resistant to the Imperius and unwilling to discuss it? After their fight over the Withering Curse, Valeria didn't know how to broach the subject.

"Indeed." Daphne said, bringing up the rear. "Let's compare notes. Weasley is bound to have made a fool of himself at least as badly as we did." She was still miffed at having to kiss Pansy Parkinson, though not nearly as much as the pug-faced girl herself. With that happy thought, the Slytherin trio made way for the seventh floor and Gryffindor's tower.

They had one last plot to hatch before the day was done.

 **xxxx**

The broom rose swiftly and silently through the darkness, none the wiser that its rider had less than honourable goals in mind. Even the crazy old Auror had to sleep some time, and the broom's rider had made certain he knew when that time came. Stars gleaming above, behind, and even through him, he slowly flew closer and closer to his destination. Invisibility Cloaks were very useful things, especially those as expensive as his.

The ride through the chilling October night took only a minute or two even at that slow speed to make sure nothing peeked from under the cloak that hid him and his broom, and then one of the castle's towers loomed above him. Now, if he remembered correctly, the window looking into the Gryffindor Common Room was... that one. With a nasty smirk that nobody would see, the invisible wizard flew up to it and drew his wand.

This is where things became complicated. The Common Room was less heavily defended than the dormitories themselves but even here breaking and entering was out of the question. Basic unlocking charms would not work, and an alarm would sound if a stranger entered the tower without permission. Unfortunately for the foolish Lions, the intruder's family library was quite extensive and he'd spent a good amount of time practising this particular infiltration spell to perfection. The test run against the mudblood's enchanted and hidden classroom where Potter and his posse frequently met had been a resounding success but this window... it would be the real thing. Half a minute of painstakingly accurate casting later, the intruder had decided that a broom two hundred feet above the ground was not the best place for experimentation. Also, he'd managed to open the window without any alarms going off and flown through it.

A large fireplace at the centre of a circular room, sofas and armchairs not only centuries out of fashion but worn down and with multiple tears all over, an announcement board that stuck out like a sore thumb, and decorations of dubious quality obviously handmade by the latest generation of Lions themselves. The Gryffindor common room was exactly as quaint, cheap, and uncouth as the intruder had expected. Not bothering to dismount - the spilt potions, spent joke items, and occasional firework accumulating on the floor looked sufficiently noxious and explosive to qualify as a defence against intruders - he flew his trusty Nimbus 2001 up the staircase in the far wall and towards the boys' dormitories. It took him less than a minute to find out which one the fourth-year lions slept in.

He flew in, invisible and inaudible. He wasn't sure anyone could hear an invading army over Weasley's thunderous snoring but better not take any chances. He approached Potter's bed, and the trunk on its right side and his smile widened in anticipation. Now, if the Lions were as foolishly trusting as he'd always believed...

 _"Specialis Revelio!"_

Nobody heard the incantation but himself. Verbal casting was required as revealing spells had never been his forte but his family library had an excellent range of stealth spells for him to use. And... yes! As expected, Gryffindor stupidity and trust - the same thing, really - worked in his advantage by ensuring Potter had not enchanted his trunk against thieves or intruders. And the thing was a dismal, muggle-made piece of worn leather and revolting plastic, of all things; no magical resistance at all. His silencing charm took care of any improvised alarms hidden inside, and his using a Levitation Charm to open it while standing behind it ensured any mechanical traps would not find their mark. Safety from such simple magic was precisely why wizarding suitcases and trunks were usually made of dragonhide or similar materials. Maybe Potter would learn that particular lesson come morning, but he doubted it; the Boy-Who-Lived was not particularly smart.

Merlin! Were those really Potter's muggle clothes? Didn't he have anything decent to wear that he had to use such rags? No matter; this harmed no reputation but Potter's own and maybe Dumbledore's... and that was just fine with the intruder. A few minutes of searching wearing the dragonhide gloves from his Potions kit - Potter's mudblood bitch was surprisingly good with Potions and one could never be too careful - the intruder stumbled upon a large, folded up piece of parchment nearly a yard wide once unfolded. Staring at the criss-crossing lines of ink forming a map of Hogwarts, the tiny little human shapes populating it, he sneered. Potter's greatest tool wasn't even hidden! Well, it was not his purpose in life to correct Potter's many, many faults. The idiot had spurned his family's name and offer of alliance and would suffer for it. He put the Map in his pocket and then just stared at what lay below it; an invisibility cloak! Merlin, Potter was such a fool!

 _"Diffindo!"_

The Severing Charm hit the bundle of ethereal silvery cloth dead centre... and did nothing at all! The intruder repeated it a few times, then tried stronger spells; none of them had any effect. Perhaps Potter had been less of an idiot than he'd thought. If this invisibility cloak couldn't be easily destroyed similar to powerful artefacts the intruder's family handled from time to time, any would-be thief would be tracked by magic as soon as Potter appealed to that muggle-loving fool of a Headmaster. He could not take the cloak then... could he take the map? Taking the folded up piece of parchment out of his pocket, the intruder stared at it critically. Unlike the cloak, it had signs of considerable wear and tear so it was unlikely it was similarly protected. But better safe than sorry; with some difficulty he made a tiny tear to the edge of the magical map. Nodding in satisfaction, he folded up the map again.

"So long, Potter. You and your friends should have been more careful."

No reply was forthcoming, for the Brat-Who-Lived was fast asleep and the intruder's stealth charms concealed his words. The way down was even easier than the way up had been, but the intruder remained alert and ready for anything. It would not do to be caught as he was about to succeed, like Potter and his posse had. Despite the mudblood's reassurances to the contrary, there had been one well-hidden listening charm they hadn't found yet. As his father had once said, multiple visible threats one could see coming from miles away made a single hidden one that much deadlier. Potter's map had been such a threat, a way to track him and his allies from afar with none of them the wiser... until the Lions, the blood-traitors, and the mudblood had discussed it where they shouldn't have.

Flying out of Gryffindor Tower and locking the window behind him, the intruder was all but certain he'd made a clean escape. He couldn't have harmed Potter directly, abducted him or tried to get rid of him, for as all the old families knew the ancient enchantments of Hogwarts had been made to ensure the well-being of all students, physical and mental. Slytherin might have believed in more violent competition than the other Founders and thus his House's alarms and defences did not cover limited harm, but who knew what the other Founders had believed and prepared against... not to mention that meddling fool Dumbledore. But this would suffice... for the moment. He was flying over the Black Lake now, so he took out the map that could have ruined everything and cast it down. Once it was far enough from his position, he pointed his wand at the offending piece of parchment and shouted;

"Confringo!"

The parchment blew up in a thousand pieces that burned down to ash as they descended. The wind scattered the ashes over the lake and grounds. Let anyone try to track Potter's toy or the intruder himself now!


	14. Conviction

**Last in this series of chapters, and last update before the Triwizard Tournament storyline begins. Again, some of you guessed some of what was going on with the plot against Mafloy; I am very happy to have such attentive readers so here's another bit of magic, plotting, and teenage drama. As always, liking/favouring and reviewing the story helps make it better by feeding the writer :)  
**

 **To answer mergirl007, Val's family is involved in backstage politics in more than one way, and current events in the story happen right after the Rwandan genocide. In Val's opinion, anyone who believes muggles to be peaceful and civilized is smoking something they shouldn't.**

 **Disclaimer: Did Harry and his friends ever did anything proactive in the story? If not, I do not own Harry Potter. He belongs to JK Rowling and this story is free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

After the events of the second of October, Harry was furious. That he had to wait until the first Hogsmeade visit before he could discuss everything with his friends beyond announcing the disappearance of the Map was even worse. How he wished he could use Malfoy's taunts as an excuse to reduce the blond ponce into a greasy smear on the floor... Unfortunately, he was always surrounded by his minions especially Crabbe and Goyle who followed him around even more than before... and Harry didn't want to involve his own friends in a pitched battle that would result with everyone getting detentions as soon as Moody arrived. How their Defence Professor turned up every time he and Malfoy met in the corridors was becoming annoying - or creepy, in Tracey's opinion.

The tension was resolved by a bit of good news; to show solidarity to the citizens of Hogsmeade after the attack last year, Headmaster Dumbledore had rescheduled the first visit of the year that fell on Halloween that would normally have been replaced with the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations. This gave everyone an opportunity to do some last-minute shopping before the Feast as well, which most of the girls were rather excited about. Now that the official beginning of the Triwizard Tournament had finally been announced and they were being given access to the various shops with an entire week's advance warning... the only way Harry could describe it was "feeding frenzy".

"Walk faster, Potter." Daphne commanded imperiously, practically dragging him out of the Great Hall and towards the waiting carriages. "If you make us miss this opportunity, you'll be making this trip tomorrow under magical control and with my shopping list in hand."

"How can you move so fast in heels?" Harry asked, confused. How was their delay his fault when she had suggested they do some early morning Potions revision in the library? "As for your plan, I can resist the Imperius, remember?"

"Father trained both Astoria and I to duel in all terrains and wearing all types of footwear. Thirty-seven broken ankles is a hell of an incentive." She grabbed him by the robe and hauled him towards the carriage Ron was waving at them from. Harry's face went as crimson as Ron's hair when a group of Gryffindor third-years led by Romilda Vane giggled at his being manhandled like that. Maybe if he started to eat as much as Ron he'd gain a few more inches? But no, Daphne never ate like that and still ended nearly as tall. "And don't rely on that resistance to the Imperius too much, Potter." Daphne advised him as they arrived. "I doubt you could muster much of your will under the influence of certain potions."

"Which potions would those be?" Valeria said, setting aside a roll of parchment full of incomprehensible diagrams. Then, uncharacteristically, both she and Tracey giggled.

"If you girls are done fooling around..." Ron interrupted with an expression of embarrassment and mild disgust "I think it's time." All six of them fell silent as Valeria took out a crimson folder and stuck it to Harry's back... exactly where Malfoy had somehow managed to attach an almost perfectly concealed listening charm. Then she tapped it with her wand to activate it, put a silencing charm around both it and the listening charm, and Disillusioned it.

"There." The shorter Slytherin blonde said with an air of satisfaction. "One modified Malfoy-deceiving Howler up and working. We can now discuss anything we couldn't with him listening."

"How is it modified?" Harry asked with interest. The ability to create Howlers would have been awesome in playing pranks to Malfoy and his goons. Unfortunately, it required more skill in Charms than most students had, himself included. But that didn't mean he wasn't interested.

"It doesn't explode, mate." Ron said, sending Tracey into a fit of giggles again. That reaction seemed a bit strange to Harry, though he couldn't explain why. Then again, the mousy brunette had always been rather odd.

"Apart from that obvious change," Valeria explained with an eye-roll at Ron's and Tracey's antics "I reduced the volume to half that of normal conversation since it is right next to the listening charm, resulting in an increase in maximum duration by a factor of two hundred given the same spell strength. There's four hours of Hogsmeade-related conversation stored there that should cover the whole trip. If we avoid bumping into Malfoy and his minions personally, they should never realize what's going on."

"Wicked!" Ron patted the girl in the back in an attempt to congratulate her, but managed to send her off her seat instead. Being on the receiving end of less than amused glares from all three girls present had him apologising profusely for the next minute or so.

"How did you do the entire conversation?" Neville suddenly asked when Ron had calmed down. "Gran's Howlers always sound like her and only the caster of a Howler can add to it... or did you alter that, too?"

"Nah, reworking the recording spells like that would have been too much work." Valeria said, still rubbing her back and occasionally glaring at a pale-faced Ron. "I just used some Volubilis Potion. One of its many uses is voice imitation and..."

"That's all well and good, but can we talk about the Map now?" Harry interrupted what might have been a very detailed and mostly incomprehensible monologue about his worst subject after Divination.

"Malfoy stole the copy, I take it?" Daphne said, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Wait a minute!" Ron interrupted accusingly. "You told me the bit about not making new maps was true in that meeting Harry wasn't around for!"

"We can't make another Map, Weasley." Daphne agreed, then smirked nastily. "That doesn't mean we can't cast a copying spell on a piece of parchment so it shows what the map does... then add curses against would-be thieves once said thieves have been informed of the map's existence and importance."

"That was your plan?" Ron asked the pureblood heiress, impressed. "But wait, Malfoy's hand isn't rotting away or anything..."

"Stop being intentionally idiotic!" Daphne hissed at Harry's best mate. "Using a lethal curse could have landed us in Azkaban. No, Malfoy would wish he were dead instead."

"Good." Harry agreed darkly. He'd been thinking about this for some time now, ever since Daphne had insisted he should be more proactive about both his education and striking against his enemies. He'd initially been uncertain... good people were supposed to be forgiving, weren't they? Malfoy breaking into Gryffindor however had been a wakeup call. "We can't let Malfoy do anything he wants. If the Professors are letting him get away with his bullying because his father's rich and connected, it's time we stopped him instead."

"I'm very happy to hear you say that, Harry." Daphne replied, giving him a small but sincere smile that reached all the way to her green eyes. Then, before he could manoeuvre away from her in the confines of the carriage, she ruffled his hair fondly and embarrassingly. "But plans of vengeance or no, you're not getting out of your promise to help me with the shopping."

Hoping the earth would open up and swallow him if only so he could avoid his friends' laughter, Harry tried to remember when exactly he'd given such a promise.

 **xxxx**

"Go on - I'll see you back at the castle!" Valeria said to her friends before ducking around a corner and activating the charms on her ring and clothes. Brown hair and darker skin courtesy of a Colour-Changing Charm, another foot of height thanks to an Engorgement Charm, her attire shifting to black and yellow even as they shifted to fit her increased size. Malfoy and his goons wouldn't be looking for a sixth-year Hufflepuff now, would they? Plus, anonymity was always good to have if Moody saw her; few Hufflepuffs took Defence at NEWT level.

She wondered if Neville, Tracey, and Ron would leave Harry in Daphne's tender mercy but she doubted it. The boys wouldn't notice the budding romance if it hit them with a Beater's bat and Tracey would be having too much fun making snide remarks to leave those two to their own devices. Poor Harry... he was even more naive than Ron sometimes.

Pippin's Potions was empty when she entered, no other Hogwarts students interested in what was most people's least favourite subject during their first visit in Hogsmeade for the year. A narrow, dark crawlspace surrounded by heaps of potions, ingredients, and even live specimens, the small apothecary catered more to the needs of experienced brewers than the standardized potions kits most Hogwarts students bought from Diagon Alley. Since Hogwarts was effectively the primary residence of both Severus Snape and Madam Pomfrey, that was only to be expected... and highly convenient for Valeria's needs.

"Can I help you dear?" the wizened old wizard behind the narrow wooden desk in the depths of the dark shop asked. Far from being fooled by his friendly demeanour, she approached with all due caution and several defensive spells active.

"I'd like to buy a pound of Sopophorous Beans, five measures of powdered Bicorn horn, five measures of powdered dragon claw, fifty Jobberknolls, and one Boomslang skin, please."

"I see." The old wizard's milky eyes fixed her with a stare that was no longer sightless at all. "Will that be all, miss?"

"Not at all." With deliberate slowness, she took several vials full of a radiant golden liquid and put them on the counter. "A dozen measures of Elixir to Induce Euphoria. The usual arrangements apply."

"Indeed." Reminding her a bit of Ollivander's absent-minded fascination with his trade, the old wizard lovingly packed each and every vial separately and set them aside before going deeper into the shop's pile of ingredients to find all she'd asked for. Among with the ingredients he placed on the counter a sizeable bag of galleons to cover the difference in price. The vials he would keep for one to seven days, decided at random, then mail them to a certain shop in Knockturn Alley to complete the chain of transactions.

They weren't Euphoria Elixir of course. The Colouring Curse was the first spell Valeria had created, mostly through Accidental Magic and a stubborn determination to prove Ron and Harry wrong during their first meeting on the Hogwarts Express. It had taken her three years and many experiments on a certain traitorous rat animagus to recreate it, but the advantages were worth it. Much like the Permanent Sticking Charm was a version of the Sticking Charm that could work on normally resistant targets such as humans and had neither counterspell nor a limit on its duration, _Colovaria Extremis_ was the Colour-Changing Charm's bigger, meaner cousin. Want to turn somebody's hair pink permanently? Make their eyes milky white and thus blind? Change the colour of a poison or potion so it appeared to be only water? The applications were many.

In this case, several vials of very expensive illegal potions had been disguised for safer transportation and use. Mister Borgin in Knockturn Alley had even paid extra for the disguise, and doing business remotely was safer for Valeria, disguise or no. It had been pure luck that her first foray into the disreputable magical street years ago had not ended in disaster and she liked to believe she was less naive now.

"Thank you, Mister Malachi." she said to the old wizard politely as she stored her ingredients in her purse and left. Nobody knew what had happened to J. Pippin of Pippin's Potions any more than they knew what had happened to Mister Burke or Borgin's and Burke's. Valeria suspected they'd both been done in by their respective partners, a fate she was not keen on sharing by being discourteous to dark wizards with over half a century's experience on her. Tom himself spoke fondly of Mister Borgin, having worked for the man after making the Diary but before he'd left it behind to Abraxas Malfoy.

Dogweed and Deathcap was her next stop in the preparations phase of moving against a certain Defence Professor. The exotic plant and flower trader was known for having many obscure and lethal plants for sale. Unfortunately, it did not cater to Hogwarts students at all. Fortunately, a sip of Ageing Potion and an alteration of her robes later, a tall, non-nonsense, black-haired witch in her mid-twenties entered the shop.

"Excuse me. Do you have any Mandrake seedlings?"

If all went well, in about a month the madman Moody would regret ever using his eye on underage girls.


	15. Unwelcome Guests

**Sorry for the delay everyone. I've been sick these past couple of weeks and now I am scrambling to catch up with the schedule of all my stories. Expect the next update tomorrow, as long as my flu doesn't get worse. I'd been rather excited with this chapter and would have posted it a lot sooner if able. It shows magic in more mundane, everyday uses than plots and battles and I had great fun thinking how it'd affect the everyday life of teenagers familiar with it, something Harry sadly never had in canon. We also get an idea on how powerful some spells can be from apparently innocuous canon examples. For all that Harry saw it as wondrous in the books, he was too focused on the Voldemort plots to actually appreciate just what it could accomplish... or simply never had the inclination.**

 **About the Titanic and other ships, I got great plans in the works and this is only the second book. I'm stumped on the Snape romance though (/joke)**

 **Disclaimer: Do wizards conceal a vast number of magical creatures from muggle eyes worldwide, including entire islands with colonies of Quintapeds, Dragons, Dementors and other major dangers, and yet Arthur Weasley forgot to cast a good enough spell to hide his Ford Anglia? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. He belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

With the end of October approaching rapidly and the arrival of the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang being the subject on most students' and Professors' minds, the six friends' numerous plans and preparations had hit a few snags. With the festive and chaotic atmosphere pervading the castle, a caretaker scrambling to clean every portrait and suit of armor within an inch of their artificial lives, the Heads of Houses doing their best to crack down on rule violations, and a cackling Peeves the Poltergeist determined to balance everyone else's efforts with copious amounts of creative mayhem, finding a place to plot and practice was becoming more and more difficult.

"For the last time people, I am not opening the Chamber of Secrets again!" Harry argued when the others cornered him in the second-floor bathroom for the third time that week. "It's a horrible place to practice in, cold, dirty, and slimy. And the only access we know of is a gigantic sewer pipe!"

"Harry, be reasonable." Tracey pleaded. "Every other room we could go to is invaded twice a day by either Filch or Peeves. A bit of dirt never hurt anyone and there's always cleaning charms."

"Speak for yourself, Davis." Daphne countered with such a snooty attitude that they all burst into laughter, the pureblood princess included.

"Seriously though, why isn't there a Dueling Club this year?" Ron was pacing left and right like he always did when deep in thought. "Moody's class is good but three hours a week aren't gonna cut it. At least he'll have us practising some Hex Deflection soon. His showing us curses won't help since we can't cast them ourselves."

"Do mine ears deceive me? Ronald Weasley, slacker eternal, wanting to practice more?" Valeria wisely refrained from correcting Ron's misconception. What creatures in the Forbidden Forest fell on the receiving end of various Unforgivables lately was nobody's business but her own.

"Yeah, said slacker got a rude awakening last year when escaped Death Eaters were throwing around Unforgivables and his best spell was a Levitation Charm." Ron said glumly, selling himself short as usual. He and Valeria had been the only ones in that fight to block the supposedly unblockable, and he'd done it almost reflexively by levitating large lumps of soil in their path. "Anyway, fighting dark wizards has to be as hard as professional Quidditch and the guys playing for England have had daily practices for years and years to become good enough. Bloody hell, even the Hogwarts House teams practice more than we do Defense. No wonder there hasn't been a good Auror candidate for ages."

The rest of them promptly shut up and gaped at the tall redhead. It was a commonly accepted fact, at least among their year mates, that the youngest Weasley boy was neither dedicated enough nor intelligent enough to amount to anything much academically. Among the girls especially, gossip had it that he was a solid 3 in the Lavender-Parvati Comprehensive Partner Review, below Neville's 4.7 and Harry's 6.4, let alone Diggory's 9. Appearances however could be deceiving, and the three girls in the small group were sharing the same thought; was Ron finally beginning to grow up, or had this been a fluke? Considering what his older brothers had accomplished so far, Valeria wasn't sure of the answer to that question. She'd grown a healthy respect towards Fred and George's skill in potions and enchanting out of sheer self-preservation, and neither Dragon-handlers nor Curse-breakers grew on trees. Even Percy the swot had managed twelve Outstanding OWLs, a result Valeria wasn't sure she'd accomplish herself. She wondered if he'd been given a Time-Turner as well.

"OK, OK, you convinced me!" Harry finally admitted, breaking the awkward silence. "We can use the Chamber as long as you can find a way to quickly get in and out. Dobby can't Apparate inside - I asked - and I doubt Dumbledore would let us borrow Fawkes."

"Is that all you're worried about, Harry?" Daphne asked with a small smirk and one pale eyebrow arched questioningly. Tracey snorted as the boys tried to hide their blush and Valeria sighed enviously. She wouldn't trade intelligence or magical power for better looks but she couldn't honestly say she wasn't affected by other peoples' perception either. And emotionally, she would have felt better about it had Daphne been a ditzy, talentless girl... something her friend immediately proved she was not by jumping all the way to the ceiling and then floating there.

"We're witches and wizards, Harry." The Greengrass scion said. "What are physical obstacles to us but minor inconvenience?"

 _"Avis! Incarcerous!"_

A small flock of birds flew out of Daphne's wand, tied to her with a string each. Directing them with her wand, the weightless witch flew around the room at a decent pace to everyone else's awe or surprise. Harry was startled more than the rest of them, though that probably had to do with how Daphne practically landed on top of him as she dismissed her Levitation charm a moment before touching down, her "blunder" obviously intentional in the other girls' eyes.

"While we haven't yet achieved unsupported flight, magic has allowed us to fly for millennia." The tall blonde said as she disentangled herself from the furiously blushing Gryffindor Golden Boy. "Though I suppose you'd prefer your broom, Harry... assuming you remember you have one. I can't believe you were asking for stairs last time; do you really think Lord Slytherin would be reduced to climbing a thousand feet every time he wanted to use the Chamber?"

"You totally stole that idea from our research into Beauxbatons." Valeria accused her friend after their group had dispersed and the girls were returning to the Slytherin dormitories.

"All's fair in love and war, Val." Daphne smirked back. "If the French really built a carriage drawn by winged horses... I guess we'll see tomorrow."

"Let's hope we find a way to deal with the thousand years' worth of accumulated dirt in our Founder's glorified sewer." Tracey grumbled. "I'm good with cleaning charms but not that good."

Valeria was about to tell her friends not to worry, but caution stayed her words. The Bubblehead Charm should deal with the smells, but she wasn't sure if the Impervius Charm would work against mud and grime for long. They'd probably need to find a better repelling spell for that.

 **xxxx**

The Gryffindors scrambled to vacate the Potions classroom when the lesson ended early, seeking to escape before Professor Snape could test the antidotes they'd been brewing. As much as the trio of Slytherin girls liked hanging out with Harry, Ron, and Neville on occasion, they found such behaviour idiotic. Not wanting to learn something that could save their life in the future was inexcusable given the enemies they all had. Sighing, Valeria bottled her own finished antidote and followed the other Slytherins into the common room. The antidote wouldn't help against the more advanced magical poisons but would reverse the harmful effects of mundane substances or an overdose of common potions just fine. She'd gift it to Father for Christmas; he had friends in low places that would give a great deal for a miracle cure just slightly beyond what could be done with muggle medicine, and potions couldn't be magically tracked by the Ministry. Maybe she should send him some Skelegro, too. Muggle athletes were paid in the millions; a hundred thousand for healing all accumulated skeletal damage overnight wouldn't be unreasonable.

"Slytherin House, assemble by year!" Professor Snape ordered as he entered the common room right behind Valeria, his presence silencing the over a hundred students in the cavernous room and surrounding dormitories better than any spell.

"In less than an hour, Hogwarts will be welcoming delegations from Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy." Their Head of House announced in a silky voice that easily carried to the corners of the packed common room. "Like the members of the other Houses, you'll be meeting the foreign delegations right outside the front gates. Unlike the members of the other three Houses, you will uphold the honour of our House with dignity, poise, elegance, class, and common sense. Fail to do so and you will suffer my... displeasure." Nobody was stupid enough (not even Goyle) or mad enough (not even Valeria) to say anything about that to Professor Snape's face.

"After the initial meeting where you will hopefully refrain from acts of teenage idiocy, all four Houses and our guests will move to the Great Hall where a feast will be held in honour of the two delegations and the Triwizard Tournament officially begin. It has been arranged that the students from Durmstrang Institute will sit among us on the Slytherin table for the coming feast." Excited murmurs spread among the gathered Slytherins but subsided almost immediately: everyone either feared or respected Professor Snape too much to react wildly. "Should our guests find the arrangement satisfactory, it will continue for the rest of the year." The dour Potions Master stared at them critically for several moments.

"You have forty-five minutes to get ready. Gentlemen, if any Gryffindor-style stunts or blatant displays of infantile enthusiasm annoy our honoured guests, detention and loss of Quidditch privileges will be the least of your problems." Several girls snorted, and even as big an airhead as Pansy Parkinson smirked at Malfoy and his goons. "Ladies," Snape went on as if nothing had happened, "the infantile enthusiasm clause also applies to you. In addition, any late arrivals will be excluded from the feast and will lose any wardrobe privileges and exceptions to the uniform policy for the remainder of the year. You now have forty-two minutes to get ready."

Snape left the Slytherin common room after that bombshell of an announcement. Panic ensued.

 **xxxx**

"Lillian, can I borrow your Sleekeasy's Shampoo?" Pansy whined as the fourth-year girls scrambled to have their turns in the baths under the gimlet eye of Viola Richmond, seventh-year prefect and Head Girl. Arrangement by year was not unusual; that it gave the older girls more time to prepare and would leave the firsties with maybe ten minutes to dress up was judged fair by the Prefects and that had been that.

"Not on your life, Pants." The dark-haired, olive-skinned beauty replied as clothes were discarded and they jumped into the showers. Thanks to a Flagrante Curse cast on what was supposed to be the hot water pipe, cold baths were never an issue. Valeria opted for a mild scouring charm instead of various bathroom products - it was faster than even the magical ones, if moderately uncomfortable. Then she applied a mixture of nine parts scented oil and one part Beautification Potion to get rid of minor blemishes and obviate the need for make-up. Then it was time for the precise application of the Hair-Loss Jinx.

"Moon and Parkinson are at it, again." Daphne said with a more than justified air of superiority. Despite her lack of expertise with cleaning charms, the taller blonde was nearly finished already; she seemed to have far more control of the Hair-Loss Jinx than any of the other girls. Tracey and Valeria looked at their now wrestling Housemates and giggled.

"I'm finally getting a Pensieve this year. How much do you think the boys will pay to see this?" Valeria asked conversationally while carefully drying any hair she had not removed. Too slow and she'd miss Snape's deadline. Too fast and they'd become hopelessly frizzy.

"Hmm..." Daphne eyed everyone else in the baths dispassionately. With Lillian Moon her only true rival in looks, she could afford to be objective. "Parkinson looks decidedly less pugish than I remember. What do you think, Trace?"

"I think the boys wouldn't care." The brunette said with an air of false indifference. "Everyone above average is a ten to them, as long as they're naked."

More scrambling followed as they jumped into knickers and dresses a size too small then tried to make them fit. Engorgement and shrinking charms helped a lot in the all-out war of witch versus cloth, as did unbreakable and sticking charms. In theory, any witch worth her salt didn't have to worry about not fitting into her dress but reality was another matter. They had to save Millicent Bulstrode from an ignominious death by suffocation after Pansy had goaded her to shrink her dress enough to look slim and Pansy herself ended up owing Valeria a favour when she overdid it in her application of Swelling Solution to various parts of her anatomy. That changed everyone else's mind about the use of potions, at least the more overt ones. Tracey had asked Valeria for some Ageing Potion to look a bit more mature, which had been reluctantly provided along with a list of possible side-effects in the case of overdose. Compared with what many muggle girls were willing to suffer to look better on the other hand, the evening's preparations were small change.

Valeria's secret weapon came from her latest session with Tom Riddle's Diary and her research into the Dark Mark. The Dark Lord had pioneered an area of enchantment that had not been used since the age of Merlin; the direct and permanent application of Charms on the body rather than relying on temporary spells. Usually, permanent magic on sentient beings was the domain of Curses, Human Transfiguration, and Alchemy. Valeria however was exceptionally gifted in Charms and after much work over the past week had succeeded in applying featherweight and stability charms where they'd do the most good without the chafing and other limitations of more physical supports. She might not measure up to Daphne's or Lillian's standards, but she might as well be comfortable if any vigorous physical activity came up.

"We only have three minutes left! Go! Go! Go!" Pansy cried in near-panic.

They went.

 **xxxx**

"You were right; they did arrive in a winged carriage." Valeria conceded as the Beauxbatons delegation landed amid many ooohs and aaahs from everyone but the Slytherins. "Wait, isn't this a violation of the Statute of Secrecy? That carriage is the size of a house and the horses are the size of elephants. I distinctly remember a mess involving a flying car in our second year, and that vehicle had been dozens of times smaller and didn't make any international flights."

"Of course it's a breach of the Statute of Secrecy." Tracey said with a snort. "Cross-country flights on anything but Thestrals is against the law, technically. In reality, most Ministries and Wizard Councils don't enforce it as long as you apply the right anti-muggle illusions. I mean, the Ministries routinely cover large populations of dragons since a fifth of all wizards are paired with dragon heartstring wands and they produce large quantities of other highly magical commodities too. Hiding a single carriage, even one that large, is a piece of cake and the Headmistress of a major magical school would have either the magic or the contacts to do it." Once again, Valeria was reminded that Tracey's skill with magical creatures nearly matched Hagrid's, though thankfully her love for monsters was a bit more restrained. "Besides, she's already violating international immigration laws just by being here."

"Shhh!" Daphne admonished. "If Malfoy and his goons realize that there'll be trouble."

"Really?" Valeria eyed the Headmistress of Beauxbatons towering over Albus Dumbledore and frowned. "How could he have possibly missed that? The woman's twelve feet tall!"

"Malfoy's useless in Care of Magical Creatures." Daphne scoffed, showing her disdain for the Malfoy scion even though she was not even taking that class herself. "Besides, no matter what he suspects he can't make accusations without corroboration and you Tracey are the closest thing to a creature expert Hogwarts has."

"Unless Hagrid opens his mouth where Malfoy can listen." Tracey groaned, then searched the area for her probably second-favourite Professor. "Did any of you see Hagrid since our last lesson? He was having some problems earlier and he's not here now."

"Yes Trace, what's up with that?" Valeria asked the other witch. "Hagrid managed to successfully breed an entirely new type of monster, one that promises to be actually useful. I expected him to be excited about the Skrewts but he has been moping since the start of the year and his teaching is suffering. All we did in our last lesson was milk the baby Skrewts for venom; we didn't even do a comparison with infant Acromantula or Manticore samples."

"I'm so happy I never picked that class now." Daphne said, but Tracey did not respond. In fact, their friend remained suspiciously silent on the matter until they were all distracted by the arrival of the Durmstrang delegation.

Valeria had to admit that the submersible Galleon (the ship, not the coin) the northern school used was rather impressive. The strength of the propulsion and water-repelling spells on it had to be significant. A rough calculation showed that at a depth of a mere seventy feet, the repelling spell would have to hold back at least twelve thousand tons total pressure - two atmospheres over the surface of a ship a hundred feet long and forty wide - and the Portkey strength to transport it across a continent would be enormous since even a small Galleon massed some four hundred tons. Her hands practically itched to start casting detection and analysis spells over the ship's enchantments but she forced herself to contain her enthusiasm. Causing an international incident just to learn some new magic was not worth it.

At least, it wasn't worth it because she had an alternative. As soon as the welcoming feast was done she'd use her Time-Turner to check out the ship while everyone was in the Great Hall and nobody would be around to interrupt her. For the time being, she limited herself to a few revealing spells on the delegation itself.

 _"_ Maleficarum Revelio!"

As expected, the taint of dark magic was on average stronger on the visitors than on most Hogwarts students with the exception of Valeria, Mafalda, and Harry. The Beauxbatons delegation had the subtle, insidiously sinister distortion unique to Mind Magic, especially the striking, unearthly beautiful silver-haired girl that held the attention of pretty much every single Hogwarts male. Idiots. Mind Magic was not to be taken lightly despite its lack of bright flashes and loud bangs, and the girl in question had an aura stronger than Professor Snape himself. She could probably lobotomise most people without breaking a sweat and control even powerful magically-resistant targets. An opponent to be wary of, for sure.

The Durmstrang boys and girls had the more conventional sharp tang of lethal magic. They'd probably practised Dueling extensively as well as the lighter versions of the Dark Arts such as typical curses. All of them had willingly caused harm to another human in the past, though their auras were not dark enough to indicate anything more than rough Dueling - Professor Flitwick had the same kind of aura in spades. There was, however, an obvious exception that immediately caught Valeria's eye. Professor Karkaroff had a solid dark grey mantle around him with numerous splashes of dark red, a bit lighter but more sinister than Professor Snape's own. In fact, he'd used Dark Magic enough to exceed his control more than once, and his physical appearance reflected those past... indiscretions in a slight twisting, an underlying corruption of his features that made it obvious to anyone who knew what they were looking for even without Valeria's detection spell. The man was almost certainly a murderer - probably more than once. But that wasn't the end of it. No, the most alarming was the unmistakeable solid black patch seemingly drinking in all light around his left forearm. Valeria had studied this particular magic enough to recognize the signs when they came up in her detection spell.

Igor Karkaroff bore the Dark Mark, which made one of the two foreign Headmasters a Death Eater.


	16. Choices and Chosen Ones

**Suffered a relapse and had to go to the hospital. Apparently, the "cold" that would not end wasn't the Flu, but pneumonia. Treatment is working, but I'll be feeling some symptoms for at least another month. Morale of the story, if you're sick don't let it go because the symptoms are only mild. It might actually be something serious. Anyway, back to the story. With this very long chapter we finally get to the main plot of year four, some more character development, and magic. Note that much of the last scene was taken from the Goblet of Fire chapter sixteen, since there were very few changes there.**

 **Disclaimer: Do several of the most capable wizards in Britain at the time leave the Goblet of Fire with a fairly weak defense overall when they _seemingly_ could have done a lot more to ensure the integrity of the Tournament? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. He belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

If the submersible, teleporting Galleon the Durmstrang delegation arrived in demanded Valeria unravel its secrets at the earliest opportunity, the Goblet of Fire made her hands positively itch with her yearning to dismantle its enchantments, dissect their web of magic to its base components, and learn all she could from the millennium-old artefact. But with the entirety of the school watching and the rough wooden cup full of dancing flames still within Dumbledore's reach she couldn't do any of the above. No, she had to sit in the Slytherin table and suffer in silence as Malfoy and his goons besmirched the honour of their House in their fumbling attempts to cosy up to Victor Krum!

"Pathetic." Daphne said scornfully, glaring at Draco Malfoy's animated, eager face and Pansy's excited squeals. "As if the noblest of the Houses of Hogwarts was little more than a gaggle of brainless, boot-licking peasants."

"You seem rather upset, miss." A deep baritone voice intruded from their left. Its owner was a tall, broad-shouldered, heavyset boy that would have fit very well among last year's Quidditch team roster if not for his too-pale skin, short-cropped silver hair, and pale blue eyes proclaiming him a foreigner far more strongly than they did Malfoy. "Is the food not to your liking?"

The Slytherin girls rolled their eyes at his slow, deliberate speech and the question both, but taking him for an idiot would have been a mistake. Being understood was more important to him than saying a lot, a mistake many other foreign students were making. Then, there was his timing and the meaning behind his words.

"It is a bit bland, however good it might look." Daphne confirmed, sampling several traditional French dishes - mostly seafood. "I prefer dishes with more... substance." She almost imperceptibly nodded at Malfoy making a fool of himself and rolled her eyes again. "Daphne, Scion Greengrass" she introduced herself formally, offering her hand to the foreign student.

"Ekkehard, of House Berger" the massive young man replied just as formally, his name fitting him like a glove in a way that muggle names didn't. Valeria was only beginning to study the complex arithmantic relationship between names and the witches and wizards that bore them, but even a novice in Arithmancy would not have doubted the young man's claim; he certainly looked like a member of the House of the Mountain, one of the oldest German pureblood families. She let Daphne and Tracey chat him up for now; a foreign aristocrat would have no interest in a muggleborn. Besides, Dumbledore's announcements were more important than eye candy, even eye candy that kissed girls' hands instead of shaking them or awkwardly withdrew.

 **xxxx**

"...competing in the Tournament is no small thing." Albus Dumbledore cautioned the students, for all the good it would do. "It is a chance for great glory, yes, but also fraught with many dangers. Champions will have to display magical prowess, skill, bravery, tenacity, a quick mind, and that most elusive of qualities, common sense, to have any chance to succeed." And they would. One of the main reasons he had agreed with the revival of the dangerous, almost certainly lethal competition was the upcoming war with Voldemort, and the ever-worsening state of disarray in the International Confederation of Wizards. With the Americans concealing themselves further and further away from the muggle world and other wizarding nations both, the Indians focusing on their pseudo-religions and Parseltongue worship, the Chinese cloistered in their monasteries in Tibet, and the Russians busy with their own minor but numerous dark lords, wizarding Britain needed all the allies it could get.

Amelia Bones had done a fantastic job in involving the foreign governments in the Tournament and drawing their attention to the comings and going of the British Isles. Should Tom make his move this year as was Dumbledore's expectation, and should the Tournament itself not strain the relationship between the schools somehow, their allies in France and Norway would turn from "potential" to certain. Madame Maxine and the French in general held little love for anyone who discriminated over blood, especially creature blood, and aside from Karkaroff, most wizards in Durmstrang's sphere of influence would oppose anyone following in Grindelwald's steps. But those preparations to get them much needed allies and support in the coming war had also made the Tournament more complex and dangerous. Poor Cornelius could never have organized something like this, but Amelia's success was also Dumbledore's greatest worry.

"After much deliberation among the representatives of all three schools and Ministries, it was decided that the Tournament be revived as it was originally conceived; a contest between the three schools, not just three champions. To that effect there will be seven tasks. In some, the champions will rise or fall on their own. In others, the support of their school and, especially, their fellow students will prove crucial. However, only the champions will be bound to compete; it will be up to them to seek and gain such support on their own merits."

It was Igor's fault primarily, Dumbledore mused. He'd wanted to include Duelling from the start, while Olympie insisted on more intellectual tasks, and he on abstract tests of character. After many long arguments, they'd settled on three solo tasks of great danger, and four group competitions of lesser risk. Igor would learn to live with his disappointment, though not by as much as he'd expected. For all of Dumbledore's efforts to make the Tournament risk-free, limiting the use of Dark Magic was the most he'd managed.

"The champions will be chosen by the Goblet of Fire; an independent and objective judge of character and ability that will also bind the Champions to compete through a magical contract." His control allowed him to hide his opinion of the artefact in question. The Goblet had been enchanted to enforce the rules of the Tournament in a far more brutal and barbaric age, a fact reflected in its draconian methods. Finding a way to ensure the new age limits would be upheld without triggering the Goblet's enchantments against interference had been a long and involved process that had yielded only one answer so far... and now he was out of time.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line." Or so he hoped. Trying to forbid part of the student body to enter the Tournament when the Goblet itself had been made with no such restrictions could be taken as interference by the powerful artefact. Thus, they'd had to resort to indirect means. Igor and Olympie had only brought adult students from their schools, but had taken no direct action to stop others from coming; distance and the costs of travelling would force those not of age to make up their own minds not to follow. He had to resort to an Age Line, a magical boundary that was also not subject to interference or subjectivity and was thus compatible with the Goblet itself. Trying to get control over the Goblet itself wasn't impossible per se... but nobody could trust the witch or wizard who managed it to be impartial, and tradition and previous binding agreements between the schools had dictated they use the Goblet instead of any other means of picking Champions.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. As previously mentioned, the placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all."

 **xxxx**

Valeria loved magic - especially the powerful, reality-defying magics like her Time Turner. Being in many places, many times, at once held a sense of wonder she would never get used to, or even wanted to. It was something most of her peers seemed to lack; seeing magic as something magical, something above and beyond the mundane events of the world. That someone like Tom Riddle would share that sense of wonder before it was completely eclipsed by his hunger for power and fear of death would have been alarming if Harry didn't also display such awe at true magical accomplishment.

The wooden deck swayed gently below her feet as the waters of the Black Lake lapped against the Durmstrang ship periodically. The chilly wind howled against its withdrawn and probably non-functional sails, but her Warming Charm kept it at bay. While everyone was at the feast, her past self included, she was here, casting detection spell after detection spell over every inch of the unguarded vessel. The Moon and stars gleamed overhead, looking down upon her work with possible disapproval but she didn't care. It wasn't as if she was trying to steal the ship or its cargo; all she wanted was its secrets.

A spell to push back the weight of the ocean so it would not crush a ship of this size would be beyond the power of the average wizard. The ship's unknown inventor however had used a lot of common sense and a spark of genius to overcome that hurdle through the simple expedient of individually enchanting every plank, window and board. Instead of a single spell of enormous power it had thousands of lesser spells that individually even a student could manage, the titanic task spread evenly upon them. Impervius Charm, to hold back the water. Unbreakable Charm, to make every single component supernaturally durable. Flame-Freezing Charm, so the ship would not burn. Permanent Sticking Charm, to fit pieces together without the need of nails or screws. Featherweight and Leadweight Charms so the ship could vary its mass and rise or submerge as needed, and propulsion charms like the ones used by Hagrid on the school's small fleet of boats. Preservation Charms, so it would last far longer than muggle-built ships. Spells against various magical parasites, especially the Ramora, a silver fish with powerful enough magic to anchor ships in place. All in all, an elaborate yet simple mosaic of spells working together perfectly, probably woven over time by a single caster. If it took said unknown witch or wizard about a minute to infuse each individual spell permanently upon the ship, then the entire construction would be the work of an entire year. As far as Valeria knew, skilled enchanters would typically produce dozens of magic items a day and charge for them exorbitant prices; something like this ship would probably cost millions of galleons.

Beyond the individual spells necessary for the ship's function, the Galleon also had several more added for functionality, defense, or simple comfort. Under Valeria's detection magics those enchantments felt a lot newer and were probably renewed periodically. The Unplottable Charm on the ship was fairly obvious after having tested the much smaller one on her tent for a couple of months. The Muggle-Repelling Charm was less complex than the one on Hogwarts, and probably unnecessary. The Unplottable Charm prevented the ship from appearing in any sort of map or its location from being noted, which meant that no muggle detection system could ever display it or give its coordinates. And with it moving underwater, visual observation wouldn't do much. The environmental charms on the other hand were far more powerful, probably because underwater travel would otherwise freeze the crew in minutes. There was some sort of area defensive enchantment that... blunted or opposed offensive magic, similar to the enchantments in the House dormitories. She didn't know enough to see how the spell worked and it didn't seem to outright stop attacks like a shield. Whenever she tried to cast something harmful, the spell worked against her will instead, diminishing the power she could put in her magic. Apparently, she had a lot to learn about magical defenses still.

The third time she reverted the timeline - she was not going to miss this opportunity no matter how tired it made her - she ventured into the cabins. They had been expanded from the cramped spaces they'd have been in a normal Galleon to decent-sized rooms for the average student or multiple-room quarters for the Professors. The fairly standard expansion spells were not something new and exciting as everything else had been; she was both tired and bored so she only noticed her potentially fatal error after the fact. She'd actually entered more than one spatially enlarged cabin while carrying her spatially expanded purse! Since neither she nor the ship had violently blown up, she'd just discovered something new about spatial expansion. Her brother's Dungeons and Dragons experience to the contrary, if the caster was experienced enough then having an expanded space inside another expanded space was not an issue at all. Could wizards expand space indefinitely, or was there an upper limit beyond which weird and potentially paradox-inducing backlash happened? This needed further experimentation.

Despite all her discoveries though, she did not find out how the ship travelled magically. The entire ship was infused with Portkey magic, but there was no specific focus it could be emanating from. Being a construct made up of thousands of components and potentially capable of carrying hundreds of individuals, how did the Portkey enchantment apply to the entire ship? The arithmancy and magical theory simply didn't fit; Portkeys had to be single items either physically or conceptually and they had to touch all creatures or objects they were to transport. The aura emanating from Durmstrang's vessel simply did not fit those parameters.

Totally exhausted by fifteen hours of magical analysis, she retreated to the Slytherin common room and fell asleep. Dreams of a self-teleporting carrier full of hundreds of tons of explosives or hazardous materials would have to wait for another day.

 **xxxx**

"It is done, my Lord." the dark-haired witch with the too-wide eyes gleefully announced. "The die has been cast and Dumbledore's protections were for naught." She turned towards the older wizard at the far side of the dilapidated room, her mad stare meeting his glazed, emotionless one as she licked her lips. "Shall we dispose of our guest now that his help is no longer required?"

"Patience, Bella." He hissed in the high-pitched voice he'd come to hate more than any other sign of weakness of his twisted form. "A glutton will only choke on a good meal, while one with proper manners will prolong his enjoyment." That and he was not sure either of them could handle another infusion of stolen life. Bella's dedicated efforts had done much to ensure he'd return stronger than ever, but overreaching would only end in failure. And failure he despised almost as much as this half-form Bella so carefully, almost lovingly pampered. Disgusting.

"As you say my Lord." His most loyal follower agreed... then giggled girlishly. He wondered for a moment if having her help him in his resurrection was adversely affecting her; she'd always been far too... eager to serve. A tool overused ended just as useless as a tool neglected, but no tool would ever be as important as the master. But if the tool were to be rendered useless anyway...

"Imperio! Legilimens!"

He did not need to utter an incantation to merely control or read others, especially unresisting, naively loyal servants. But for this experiment he required the firmest control and deepest mental link this still-weak body could manage. Slowly and carefully, he turned Bella's body around, relying entirely on his second-hand view of her senses rather than his own eyes. When his puppet had turned around entirely, holding on to the mental link was difficult, very difficult. But with familiarity and the Imperius already there he could manage it. Despite the effort involved, he eagerly put his new toy through her paces all around Riddle Manor, up to and including the casting of spells.

Lord Voldemort felt true power for the first time in thirteen years. The improvements on the resurrection ritual that only with the aid of a competent and loyal servant he'd managed already allowed him considerable control even with the limits of this half-form. When he regained his true body back, his dream of absolute control over magical Britain and eventually the world would be fully realised. Tired but satisfied, he let the mental link break and fell into a dreamless sleep.

In the ground floor of Riddle Manor, Bellatrix Lestrange smiled widely. Having her master's mind inside her was an amazing experience, and a step closer to her final goal. There was this new difficulty of course, but she was certain it would be easily overcome. She doubted anybody else among her master's followers would so easily trust His guiding hand and she was sure he was mistaken; returning to his full power would only reveal how unworthy the others were of sharing in his power and glory. His dream of directly controlling the world would fail... but Bellatrix would be there to offer her support during his hour of disappointment.

They would be one then, and they would be happy. Perhaps they'd even celebrate by devouring the life of all those not worthy.

 **xxxx**

Valeria couldn't believe she'd almost missed her opportunity to examine the Goblet of Fire. She'd been so tired after studying the Durmstrang Galleon that she'd overslept despite the magical precautions she'd taken to the contrary; she'd been so tired that the Awakening Spell on one of her rings had failed to work until it had almost been too late; she'd even missed breakfast! Turning back time the maximum five hours had taken her back to four in the morning, with only a couple of hours left before the morning patrols by Prefects and Professors... a time she was determined to use to its fullest.

A full Disillusionment Charm was still beyond anyone in their year except Tracey, but even the blurry version she could pull off would be enough to deceive the portraits and ghosts under cover of darkness. Silencing spells were added to everything below her neck along with every concealment and stealth charm she knew. Then came the two layered Shield Charms; even if she didn't expect an attack, it was better safe than sorry. Besides, she'd never be able to hold multiple shields for prolonged periods without extra practice. Last but not least, _Cave Inimicum._ If some potential enemy was about to find her despite her preparations, she wanted to know. With that kind of preparation, reaching the entrance hall and the Goblet of Fire was accomplished without issue. Now, on to examining the cup itself...

...and no, the enchantments on it were mostly beyond her ability to analyse. She could see the core of the magical contract and the curses within ready to be unleashed at whoever broke it, but telling what the contract said or what those curses were? That would take her years more of magical experience. The defensive enchantments were far easier; they were almost identical to those on Tom Riddle's Diary, but even stronger. The spell judging who could apply for Champion was intent-based; as long as the name was intended as a champion and either the prospective champion themselves or an acceptable proxy applied, the application would not be discarded. What other means the Goblet employed to decide on the champions on the other hand, she had no idea.

Dumbledore's Age Line was easier to analyse, both because it was an overall simpler spell and because she had experience with Time magic. It measured the calendar age of anyone attempting to cross, and prevented their passage based on the intent of both caster and trespasser. Attempts to overcome the Age Line, even through trickery or indirectly, would fail because the trespasser intended to overcome it against the intent of the caster. Ageing Potions wouldn't work. Throwing one's name in a paper aeroplane or levitating it wouldn't work. Drilling the ceiling over the Goblet also wouldn't work. In theory, Apparating to the other side would work just fine as you wouldn't actually cross or trespass through it, but as the Goblet was inside Hogwarts' anti-apparition enchantments... Dumbledore could have done it against someone else's Age Line as he knew how to lift such enchantments every year for the Hogwarts Apparition class... as would a House Elf!

For a moment Valeria considered summoning Dobby and having him enter her name in the Tournament... then her common sense reasserted itself. She'd had enough near-death experiences, thank you! Maybe she should convince Dobby to charge a couple of galleons to everyone who wanted to use his services to bypass the Age Line... or she could throw Cursed Fire at it until the spell was destroyed? Naah, Snape would probably kill her or use this opportunity to take her Time Turner for his own or something.

Sighing, she dropped that very self-destructive line of thought and returned to her examination of the Goblet. There was something about the magic of the goblet that struck her as... odd, the enchantments not quite balanced as they should be in a permanent magical item. She'd initially thought it was due to her limited understanding, but further examination proved it wasn't so. There was a spell on the Goblet, not an enchantment like the rest, and a powerful one at that. Less obvious than Dumbledore's Age Line... hidden among the Goblet's governing enchantments... ah, there it was!

Valeria blinked and took a few steps back in surprise. Why was there an extremely powerful Confundus Charm on the Goblet of Fire?

 **xxxx**

Severus Snape did not like disruptions in his finely tuned daily schedule. He found disruptions caused by the dim-witted, hyperactive, hormonal, horrendously self-centered underage horrors that only distantly resembled proper students especially annoying. And when one of the miscreants belonging to his own House decided to wake him up at six in the morning after he'd had a mere two hours of sleep, he decided to thoroughly punish the little devil to make an example that might potentially diminish the other devils' propensity for mayhem.

"Sir, the Goblet of Fire has been tampered with."

Apparently, Fate had it in for him at more than one level; the little devil actually had a good reason for waking him up and so making an example of her would be inconvenient and counter-productive... for the time being.

"Explain." He demanded, if only to get some time to wake up fully and down a Headache Relief Potion; his migraines from last night's meeting with Igor Karkaroff were coming back with a vengeance. And so the little devil did, the story a fascinating laundry list of broken school rules and feats of magical espionage. He was mildly impressed, if only at the little devil's temerity.

"Let me get this straight, Campbell." He said in his most dangerous silken tone. "You decided you must know the until recently well-guarded secrets of both a rival school and an ancient artefact created by all three schools centuries ago. Then you broke every single curfew-related rule, as well as several laws against identity concealment, the use of magical deception in a major magical institution, and the laws of time to satisfy your curiosity. That led to the discovery of a Confundus Charm on the Goblet that is probably affecting a very important event for international magical cooperation according to some hidden mastermind's nefarious plot."

"That's about right, Professor." The infuriating girl said. "Though the bit about a hidden mastermind and nefarious plots is only speculation."

"Do you always interfere in dangerous situations you know nothing about?" He demanded then magically silenced the brat as she opened her mouth. "No need to answer that question; you're a teenager. The answer will always be 'of course'." He added a Calming Draught to the morning's Potions intake, if only to help him resist strangling the brat to death; the paperwork for a student's death would take days to slog through and Dumbledore would insist upon it.

"Sir, are we going to do anything?" Campbell asked with a thoughtful frown as soon as his Silencing Charm faded. At least she did have a rudimentary brain inside her skull and deigned to use it on occasion, unlike most of the other little devils.

"Indeed. We are going to sleep and forget about this." He smirked at the girl's incredulous expression. Dumbledore had been very clear on the subject of the Goblet of Fire. "Any attempt to tamper with the Goblet after the selection process has begun would be seen as interference and be punished by the Goblet's enchantments. You are exceedingly fortunate you limited yourself to detection and revealing spells. The results would have been... unfortunate otherwise."

"And what of the Tournament, sir?"

"What of it?" He sneered. "I will inform our illustrious Headmaster - not that he will do anything about it. Beyond that, I care not." He shrugged. "Given the quality of your older Housemates or lack thereof, I can't see any of them being chosen. The Tournament not being a Slytherin affair, I could care less about someone's attempt to subvert it for personal glory and profit." He pointed his wand at the girl and scowled fiercely. "Which means the only thing to be gained by drawing the Ministry's attention to this debacle is their becoming aware of your misdeeds. Do you wish to try for clemency by turning yourself in, perhaps?"

"Err... not particularly." She said with chagrin.

"I thought not. I am less than willing to see the name of our House marred any further, myself." Let the girl believe he was doing it for the House alone. To do otherwise would be to feed her ego further, and risk the appearance of a Potter-equivalent among the Slytherins... or another Dark Lord. He was not entirely sure which would be the worst. Gritting his teeth he gestured at her with his open hand demandingly. "The Time-Turner, Campbell. Hand it over." Sighing, probably at the "unfairness" of it all, the brat reluctantly handed over the delicate-looking instrument.

"Did you believe you would escape punishment, Campbell?" He smirked at her childish pout. "Two weeks without privileges ought to pound into your skull a simple truth."

"What would that truth be... sir?" She demanded almost angrily and for a moment he considered giving her some actual punishment rather than this slap on the wrist. Then his many past regrets reminded him why he was willing to support a Slytherin muggleborn that was clever enough and daring enough.

"No good deed goes unpunished, Campbell. Either work for nobody but yourself, or be willing to suffer the consequences."

That, and he needed the Time Turner to have a decent night's sleep. His head was killing him.

 **xxxx**

When they entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. Fred and George - clean-shaven again after their little mishap that morning - seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well.

"Hope it's Angelina," said Fred as Harry, Ron, and Neville sat down.

"So do I!" said Harry breathlessly. "Well, we'll soon know!"

The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, Harry didn't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as he would have normally. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Harry simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions. At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored. What was he doing here, Harry wondered. Unlike Bagman, Dumbledore had not introduced him last night, nor had he been present at the previous feast.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" - he indicated the door behind the staff table - "where they will be receiving their first instructions." He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting.…A few people kept checking their watches…

"Any second," Lee Jordan whispered, two seats away from Harry. The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it - the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!" Not everyone was applauding, though. Harry could see at least three Slytherin girls who weren't. In fact, Valeria's expression was decidedly sour, for some reason. Maybe she'd eaten something that did not agree with her; all this foreign food was weird.

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames. "The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

"It's her, Ron!" Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Both Ron and Neville were quite red in the face at the too-beautiful girl's selection. They weren't the only ones; fully a fifth of the boys in the Great Hall were following Fleur with their stares, and not because she'd just been chosen. Harry made sure he was not among them; far more girls than boys stared, and their expressions were rather murderous.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next… And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment. "The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

"No! " said Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Harry; the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real -"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out -

"Harry Potter."


	17. Deviations

**Breaking a large chapter into two-three smaller ones to be posted over the weekend. My health is steadily improving and I'm working on returning to my old update schedule of every other day, but better not push things right now. As for the guy who made a joke out of a very serious illness in his review, I'll just say this; creative writing is hard when you can't breathe well or rest while sleeping and you're perpetually tired.**

 **xxxx**

In hindsight, Harry should have expected something dangerous and unusual involving him to happen. It was the 31st of October after all which was, according to Valeria's Arithmantic calculations, magically significant to both Hogwarts and Harry himself in addition to being a major magical holiday and an Astronomically significant date. He, Ron, and Neville had wished they were able to take part in the Tournament when the announcement had been first made, though Neville had only admitted so under pressure. As the reality of his situation struck him while he endured the scrutiny of not one but three annoyed Headmasters and the incredulity and anger of the real champions, Harry realized just how small and childish those dreams had been.

"Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet?" Professor Dumbledore asked him seriously, pale blue eyes fixing him with a penetrating stare.

"Why would I, sir?" He replied just as seriously. "For the honour of being soundly beaten by witches and wizards three years my senior, or for the glory of facing terribly dangerous trials with life and limb at risk?" He couldn't help being pessimistically sarcastic; maybe the girls were a bad influence. Merlin, he hoped it was the girls' influence and not Moody's or Snape's... that would be awkward with the two of them measuring him with their stare and, at least in Snape's case, finding him wanting.

"Why wouldn't you?" burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot. "'You 'ave ze chance to compete, 'aven't you? We 'ave all been 'oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money - zis is a chance many would die for!"

"Miss Delacour, I swear to you I don't want to die." Harry said, staring at the platinum-haired-girl's eyes. If Tracey was to be believed, girls liked both politeness and being shown they were taken seriously, especially when they were angry. Also, he always had to look them in the eyes... and nowhere else. He followed her advice and fervently hoped it made a difference. Making more enemies than he already had would be bad. Placating Fleur might also make her obviously protective Headmistress a bit friendlier. "In fact, I'll make a magical vow that I had nothing to do with my name coming out of the Goblet. It should clear things up and..."

"You can't do that, Potter." Moody cut him off almost immediately. "You're already under a magical contract. Making any vows or taking other contracts that might affect it would be unwise." He sneered, his scarred face and lopsided grin making the grimace even more horrible. "Convenient, ain't it? Thrown into the Tournament with no way to back off or prove your innocence."

"Confusing, if essentially correct." Barty Crouch said in a hollow, tired voice. "Once the Champions are chosen, the Goblet's enchantments seal the contract so it can't be altered. New or replacement champions can't even be chosen until the next Tournament is declared." The very tall, thinly-built Ministry wizard in the expertly tailored black robes seemed rather distant, as if he had other things in his mind. He was also a bit pale, Harry thought, the dark circles under his eyes even more pronounced under the gleam of firelight. "How... unfortunate that the signatories did not agree to Ministry oversight. We could have set up better security at least."

Harry could tell that nobody liked that statement, and it had very little to do with him being declared the fourth champion. The almost whispered, furious arguments thrown left and right by most adults present were too fast for Harry to follow and smelled of politics. He hated politics, mostly because he didn't understand it.

"I agree with you in all points, Madame." Highmaster Karkaroff finally said after a sufficiently heated bout of muffled discussion. "I doubt however anything could be done... or even has to. The interlopers - whoever they might be" here he glared at Harry and maybe Dumbledore "overextended, I think. Minister Bones' contribution to our earlier discussions should take care of the problem, no?"

"Indeed zey will." The towering half-giantess agreed with a nod before turning towards Headmaster Dumbledore. "Very 'ell, Dumbly-dorr. See to your two... champions. Zis situation iz tolerable... az long az no more miztakes are made."

"You should not blame Headmaster Dumbledore for Potter's insistence to break all rules he can, madam." Snape interjected with a nasty scowl, though his trademark sneer was absent. "What we should be asking ourselves is how was the Goblet of Fire hoodwinked and by whom, since it is obvious Potter himself lacks both the brains and the magic to manage it."

Harry blushed fiercely under the gazes of both the adult wizards present and those of the three champions. Was Snape of all people trying to defend him, or did he just take this opportunity to belittle him? Things in life would have been a great deal easier if adults were more straightforward.

"Oh, I doubt the culprit would have been as limited as we were." Professor Moody said, smirking at Snape and Karkaroff both and making Harry blink. "The way a Dark Wizard's mind works is not like that of normal people, as I'm sure you remember. They must have Confunded the Goblet to accept Potter's name under a fourth school. While still enormously difficult to deceive, the Goblet's enchantments are primarily meant to bind the Champions and their schools, not to prevent additional schools from joining."

"Enough, Alastor." Dumbledore interrupted right before Snape could explode. For a split second, Harry could have sworn Snape stared at the ex-Auror with alarmed surprise, but at a second glance he was his usual nasty self. He must have imagined it. "This is not something we can resolve at the moment. Gentlemen, lady, I think our new champions missing the opportunity to party with their friends would be criminal. Let us consider the matter overnight and discuss everything tomorrow. We have until the twenty-fourth to come up with a viable solution."

The gathering dissolved after that, everyone going their own way. While Madam Maxime was angrily speaking with Fleur in their native French, Harry was sure Snape was the least pleased with the night's outcome. Professor Dumbledore had looked troubled too, but he'd immediately distanced himself when Harry had tried to approach him. Strange. Well, he could always go to Professor McGonagal for his questions. Perhaps he was being paranoid due to prolonged association with Slytherins and scary situations, but he really wanted a copy of the Tournament's rules so he could read them himself, fine print included. Unless the Professors managed to get him out of the deadly Tournament, he'd have to face the mysterious First Task only with his wand in less than four weeks. He didn't fancy finding "only with his wand" was code for "naked" and the test of courage and daring involved appearing before the entire school like that, or something.

 **xxxx**

"This is a right mess you've made, Albus." The Minister for Magic said with a deep sigh.

"Told ya we shouldn't have trusted Crouch, Amy." Sirius leaped to interrupt with an air of vindication. "He sent who knows how many people to Azkaban without trial or even to the grave due to his policies and you still have him handling International Magical Cooperation? The man is about as diplomatic as my own dear mum used to be. Did you hear him how he implied it was lack of Ministerial control that led to this debacle?" The Black heir snorted, tossing long, glossy, silken black hair over one shoulder in a motion that was both entrancing and very nearly effeminate - not that anyone could confuse him for a woman with his sharp, bearded face and broad shoulders. "His actions could not have annoyed the foreign delegations more if they'd been designed to do just that."

"Perhaps they were." Both scions of Ancient and Noble Houses turned towards the uncharacteristically brooding Headmaster in surprise. "Indeed, I find Barty's entire behaviour in the Tournament highly suspect." The ancient and powerful sorcerer sat heavily on a comfortable armchair he conjured with an idle flick of his wand. "Out of everyone that could be responsible for our troubles, I see him as the most likely suspect." Dumbledore smiled, his silvery beard gleaming under the firelight as it shifted and moved. "Severus disagrees, naturally. He believes Alastor might be to blame, though he has no proof or even strong indication towards his conclusion."

"Speculation is not going to help us now, Dumbledore." Amelia Bones said, copying Sirius' mannerisms as she did so then shooting the smirking Black an annoyed glare for making use of her own trademark body language before she could. "The Ministry is in a state of upheaval. All my attempts to get rid of Malfoy's minions and supporters so far have done more harm than good and however much you'd like me to hold things together, the truth is I simply don't have the power base. We can ill afford to further alienate the two foreign governments closest to us, let alone Beauxbatons and Durmstrang as institutions."

"Then why are you trying, Amy?" Sirius asked with some confusion. "Malfoy and his supporters are like weeds. Instead of trying to uproot them one by one, you should choke and poison them in their roots. Tax the slimy gits, maybe use the Ministry's ties to Gringotts to control or at least audit their accounts. No money, no bought politics and laws."

"First of all, Black, the next time you call me "Amy" you'll regret it." The formidable witch stated. "Secondly, nice plan. The issue is implementing it while nearly half the bureaucrats in the Ministry would be against it. Maybe you'd like to try convincing them perhaps?"

"Fighting amongst ourselves achieves nothing but the enemy's victory." Dumbledore said, interrupting what might have been an amusing but probably pointless fight had Sirius uttered what had come to his mind. Dumbledore could tell; he could read his two companions well enough with passive Legilimency. "As it is, we don't have enough information to lay blame on those truly responsible, or even tell why such a thing was done. You know my suspicions. Perhaps if..."

"If what, Dumbledore?" Amelia Bones snarled. "If we blindly follow your plans to the letter like we did in the last war? Andromeda Tonks is not the only one who had family suffer because of your little Order and not afraid to mention it. Or have you forgotten what happened to my family in the last war while we all waited for your plans to bear fruit?" The blonde witch, well and truly furious now, jumped off her seat and strode towards the fireplace. "You asked me to become Minister for Magic and I agreed. What I did not agree to was becoming anyone's puppet or figurehead. Handle your messes here before asking the rest of us to trust your plans." She threw a bit of Floo powder into the fire and with a curt command of _"Bones Manor"_ disappeared in a roar of emerald flames.

"You know Sirius my boy," Dumbledore mused, able to find humour in the darkest of situations. "I believe this time you bit more than even you could chew."

"Padfoot the Awesome will never fail. He lives and breathes this kind of challenge!" Sirius countered with a smirk before his expression darkened. "She is right about one thing, you know."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. It's about trust." Pale grey eyes fixed upon twinkling blue challengingly and refused to back down. "How could you put Harry in such danger - again?!"

"The matter is more complicated than it appears to be, Sirius." The Grand Sorcerer looked every one of his a hundred and fourteen years suddenly, his usual majesty, vitality, and aura of power seemingly fading. "Yes, I am responsible for the well-being of all students under my care. Unfortunately, it was this very point that our enemy exploited."

"What do you mean?"

"I agreed to the Tournament, gave my consent. Guardians can put their underage charges into binding magical contracts, as the scion of the Black family should know."

"Yes, yes, I know all about arranged marriages." Sirius growled. "Get to the damn point, Dumbledore. What does this have to do with Harry?"

"Harry's underage, an orphan, and my responsibility ten months out of twelve. The Goblet still works with the initial laws and contingencies it was created to enforce centuries ago. As far as it is concerned, there's no such thing as the age restriction the three schools agreed upon. And by signing Hogwarts to participate..."

"I see." Sirius growled deeply. "What I don't see is why you didn't protect the Goblet more thoroughly. Just an Age Line? Even if it is virtually inviolable, one could work around it - and they did!"

"You missed the part where the Goblet won't tolerate interference by the signatory Headmasters. Any spell to exclude Harry would have been rej..."

"No, I didn't miss that." Sirius spat angrily. "But you obviously missed the part where the most thorough protection would have been not a spell but someone just sitting and watching the Goblet during the whole period names were submitted. Someone who could thwart any intruders and whom the students could never hoodwink." Sirius' lips pulled back showing no mirth, just teeth. "Now, who could that someone have been, I wonder."

As Sirius raged about Harry's very dangerous situation, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore wondered if his two friends had been right. His recent actions and inactions, his rigid thinking and the tendency to underestimate or ignore the simple solution, bore all the hallmarks of the failings of age.


	18. Sacrifices

**Small reminder; this is an M-rated story that deals with dark magic, among other things. The Ministry's incompetence and hidebound traditionalism aside, true dark magic is monumentally bad news. Just thought I'd warn you. Also, for the first time people asked for Val to be more powerful. She is powerful for her age; it's just that using power to solve problems directly is not something that can be done without drawing attention of either the authorities, or people with more magical experience than her. Even the strongest fourteen-year-old can't draw the attention of the faculty, the Aurors, or Dumbledore willy-nilly. As for being the leader of the group, she is good at coming up with ideas and magical solutions, but others have more talent in actual leadership (Harry) or politics (Daphne).**

 **Disclaimer: did any of Harry's friends or house mates other than Hermione and maybe Ron help him with the Triwizard Tournament? If not, I do not own Harry Potter. He belongs to JK Rowling and this story is totally free and for fun.**

 **xxxx**

"Isn't escorting me to my daily classes annoying, sir?" The short, blonde, aggravating little beast asked in a cheerful tone that belied the dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, and the coldness of her stare. "Everybody knows you hate children."

"That might or might not be true, Campbell-" It certainly was. The misbehaving, misbegotten, misery-spreading little monsters most students were were the bane of Severus' existence. Unfortunately for them, he was in a position of power and authority over their little miserable selves and he so enjoyed restoring order through judicious application of intimidation, psychological warfare, his own monstrous mask of a false personality, Occlumency, Legilimency, and various forms of cruel and unusual punishment. Slytherin was the breeding ground of future monsters and his mission and duty was to ensure they did not grow too terrible for society to handle while at the same time inserting himself into their fully-grown monstrous parents' confidence. "-but I will persevere. It is my wizarding name, after all. Besides, there are compensations." He patted his crisp black robe over where an inner pocket lay hidden, a certain hourglass-shaped magical artifact sitting safely within. The girl shot him another icy glare as he escorted her up the dark, ominous staircase of the Astronomy Tower for that night's lesson. Behind his Occlumency-induced calm, he seemingly ignored the murderous expression while fixing to memory every hint, every nuance of the girl's body language, facial expression, and tone.

"If you say so, sir." She growled, and the two of them ascended in silence. Much like the Potter brat, a lack of self-preservation was one of Campbell's more disagreeable traits. Unlike the Gryffindor golden boy, it did not come from any delusions of righteousness, bravery, or a desire to do the socially-acceptable, generally-agreed-upon, so-called 'right thing'. He'd used Legilimency to search for the telltale emotions when she'd come to warn him ten days ago, and found none. That warning, with all the headaches it had brought, had been a wake-up call; it made Snape realize just how Dumbledore's plots and his own desire for vengeance had blinded him against certain other... developments.

Professor and student had reached the top of the tower at last, the door that opened to the Observatory and Aurora's midnight class before them. Sighing, Snape wordlessly urged his student onwards with a silent admonishment to behave. An equally silent glare and promise of vengeance was what he got in return. Letting the cold fury lancing out from the girl's eyes wash over him, he ignored the dare to intrude into her thoughts and turned around, beginning his long descent to the dungeons. Slytherin House had produced many damaged individuals over the nearly three decades he'd been involved with it. Severus had been one of them, of course, and trying to be nurturing and understanding towards other future plagues on wizarding society society was not in him. Since being understanding was beyond him -and probably wouldn't have worked- punishment was his primary corrective tool. When letting the girl bear the full consequences of her choices without benefit of the Time-Turner had failed to work, he'd used the powerful magical artifact to give more hours of punishment than would have otherwise been physically possible. Not only had it not worked, but it seemed to make things worse, somehow. Now, only a few days of Campbell's two weeks of detention were left and he was considering his latest failure.

Potter was easy to understand. If the Dark Lord's genuine death threats would not reduce the brat to a snivelling, useless, lump crying at the nightmare that was his life, let alone prevent him from antagonizing a far darker, far more terrible enemy than he could imagine, mere punishment was unlikely to bear fruit; Severus only applied it to hold up appearances and gleefully vent his hate against the brat's absent father. The girl on the other hand had other issues. It had not been her warning that gained her punishment, nor had it been her blatant violation of the rules to spy on Durmstrang's vessel for her own benefit. No, it had been an idle, fleeting thought swimming through her surface thoughts when he'd refused to do anything about the interference with the Goblet; what Severus would look like as an Inferius. In addition to being highly accurate, the thought included the same Necromancy spells Severus has seen Bellatrix or the Dark Lord use several times during the last war.

He'd dismissed the girl outright that night, before his shock could break through his mental control. The primary emotion behind that image had been genuine curiosity at that horrendous application of magic, something that had no business existing in the mind of a teenage girl. Therein lay Snape's failure; he'd treated the clever muggleborn witch tolerantly these past few years, even fondly, as if she was another Lily. He'd forgotten his duty to control the darkest House, cut off the more monstrous of his students' tendencies in the bud, before they blossomed into genuine threats. Crabbe's casual sadism, Parkinson's unreasonable vindictiveness, Zabini's and Moon's predatory tendencies, Draco's incredible arrogance; those were the problems he'd been slowly dealing with from that year. One of his charges developing a taste and talent for real Dark Magic was something he'd missed despite the many warning signs.

Grindelwald had been cast out from major wizarding schools - even Durmstrang - for practising the true Dark Arts. Severus had no evidence that the girl's interests had advanced that far, and would not risk expelling one of his House's most promising students. He'd chosen to monitor her closely, divest her of the tool that allowed her most easily to flout the rules, made a sacrifice in both effort and nerves to eliminate any chance that she was delving into secrets most wizards were not meant to know, especially underage ones.

Exhausted from working through more hours than a day was meant to have, he returned to his chambers and went straight for bed. All his duties had been completed with time to spare thanks to the Time-Turner, and the extra brewing he did for the Hogwarts Infirmary he'd finished hours ago. He fell asleep almost immediately, certain that the girl would be even more exhausted than him and with no time or energy left to cause mischief.

 **xxxx**

Harry suffered the glares of nearly half the school stoically, showing no hint of his inner turmoil. The majority of people were both stupid and predators, he remembered Daphne cautioning him as he sipped his pumpkin juice and chewed on crispy bacon and French toast. They attacked when they sensed weakness, and readily believed what they were shown and told. The key to a quiet life was either not to be noticed at all, something Tracey excelled in but he failed at spectacularly, or show the gullible masses exactly the image that would cause the reactions he desired.

Harry was not very good at that either, but he was slowly learning. Cedric had believed him about not putting his name into the Goblet, and the Beauxbatons champion was beginning to have doubts. The Hufflepuffs were a bit cold towards him, supporting Cedric as they did, but they weren't truly against him. Most Gryffindors were very excited about one of their own being a Triwizard Champion, though Angelina, Katie, and Alicia were standoffish and easily annoyed at him for some reason. Ron on the other hand... Harry's closest friend had taken the news badly. He'd not spoken to Harry at all since Halloween, not even the very night he'd been made Champion against his will, and was quick to vanish as soon as Harry tried to approach him. Nearly two weeks after that fateful night, and Harry's patience was running thin. What the bloody hell was Ron's problem anyway!

"If you grip that dish any harder you'll probably break it, mate." Neville said conversationally, pointing at where Harry's hands were doing their vise impersonation without his being aware of it. "Or rather, you'll break your fingers. Wizarding cutlery is usually spelled unbreakable, you know. The Longbottom china survived intact for five centuries due to such spells and I bet Hogwarts' is even older." The tall, heavily-built boy practically inhaled a syrupy pancake, then casually turned a page in the enormous Herbology tome he'd been reading while waiting for Harry's reaction. No pressure, no questioning; Neville was a good friend.

"What do you think of Malfoy's latest invention?" Harry said, tabling the matter of Ron for the time being. Ron wasn't the only friend he'd issues with at the moment but he was the one whose absence hurt Harry the most. "Half the school is wearing the damn things."

"Yes, and they're making them look like idiots; Malfoy's artistic skills are practically non-existent." Neville said, rolling his eyes. "Ignore them; they're just trying to demoralize you and ruin your hard work. Malfoy did it with me often enough; it only works if you let it." He looked over his shoulder at Harry, or more specifically Harry's wand. "Speaking of hard work, how's the spellwork going?"

"Abysmally." Harry admitted, half-heartedly going through the wand motions for the Silencing Charm. "Daphne's list has, like, fifty spells in it. And while I can cast most of them, I can only pull off a couple of the offensive ones non-verbally." He sighed when his silent Silencing Charm failed, then glared at Malfoy's gang. Pansy Parkinson took the opportunity to press the red 'Support Cedric Diggory' badge pinned to her robes, changing it to a neon green message reading 'Potter Stinks'. "Gee, I wonder why." Harry growled, his wand spitting sparks as his tightly held anger and indignation tried to surface in a less than helpful manner. He suddenly had an urge to use the second worst curse Daphne had taught him on the pug-faced girl, but did not put thought into action. According to the Greengrass heiress, _Sectumsempra_ was one of the two really dark spells her father had taught her, a Death Eater's version of the Severing Charm whose ability to slice through defenses and resist healing increased with the wielder's anger and the power put into it. With how he was feeling now, Harry was certain the spell would practically cast itself with barely any effort on his part. Hell, he might be angry enough to make a try at the other Curse Daphne had tried to teach him, the one he'd refused to learn. He averted his gaze from the Slytherins and tried to calm down. Some magic was too ugly, too... evil to consider. He'd never use it, much like he'd never use the Unforgivables.

"Come on, Harry. Don't let them win." Neville tried to lift his spirits. "Gryffindor and Hufflepuff has your back, and our friends in Slytherin support you. The only ones who bought those silly badges are the bookworms and the snakes."

"Oh really?" He shot back. He was happy Neville sacrificed so much of his time to support him, but he did not need empty platitudes. "Why aren't Daphne and Tracey joining us for practice, then? Where does Val disappear to when not in class, and why does she have a badge herself?"

"She probably wanted to know how it works. You know what she's like." Neville responded with a shrug. "As for Daphne and Tracey they have to sleep in Slytherin, you know. They're still helping us; Daphne's list of spells for handling various threats alone might save your life, and Tracey told us all about the weaknesses of dangerous creatures. She's still convinced the First Task will be about monsters... something about Hagrid buying huge quantities of extra meat."

"She's sure it's not about the Beauxbatons' horses, or Hagrid's little project in the forest?" Harry said, Neville's support and enthusiasm finally breaking through his bad mood.

"Hagrid's project is no longer little." Neville countered with a small shudder, making Harry smile a bit.

"How so?" He asked, curiosity piqued. The last time he'd seen Hagrid's favourite pet had been back in his first year.

"Let's just say that the freshness of the fertilizer Professor Sprout is using in all her greenhouses has increased, and it all seems to be coming from the same source." Neville explained with a small wince. Unlike Harry, he'd never enjoyed their adventure in the Forbidden Forest all those years ago, and was decidedly against Norberta's continued presence within several hundred miles. Not that Harry could blame the other boy.

Their breakfast finished, the two of them ignored both compliments and catcalls from surrounding students and made for the closest empty classroom they could practice in. They had no idea how the girls had compiled the list of ten most useful spells per year from the curriculum of all three schools taking part in the Tournament, but they were determined to go through it by the end of the month.

Harry had managed the Patronus Charm, a spell most NEWT-level witches and wizards couldn't do, in less than a dozen hours of practice. With thirty times as much time and no reason to study for tests or exams, he was sure he'd be ready when the First Task came up.

 **xxxx**

"And this is the Disillusionment Charm, a spell that camouflages the target in adaptive illusions, to the point of total invisibility if mastered." Daphne said to her partner in fluent German.

"Thanks." Victor Krum replied a bit awkwardly in the same language, though not from any lack of fluency. "You and that other girl - Valeria? - you've been very helpful but Charms aren't my best subject."

Neither was Daphne the Charms prodigy her friend was, but that wasn't the point. For all that Krum had studied in Durmstrang for six years, he'd failed to notice what the two Slytherin girls had been doing over the past two weeks. The plan had been Daphne's, but Val had readily agreed despite her apparently overwhelming workload. They'd carefully watched Krum's practice and study sessions for a few days and adapted the plan from there. Offering to help him since Slytherin House as a whole had thrown its support after Durmstrang did not come as much of a surprise after the _Weasel's_ very obvious breakup with Harry, and Val obtaining one of Malfoy's badges.

"Durmstrang has a core Dueling class, yes?" She said with an apparently innocent smile, putting the matter of the _Weasel_ out of her mind. Some curses became stronger with one's familiarity with the victim and the depth of their betrayal. _Accio Cordis_ had been created by a spurned lover back in the dawn of the Roman empire and while the _Weasel's_ betrayal of Harry did not make her as furious, he still wasn't safe from the Heart-ripper Curse. "I bet you're much better in Defense than in Charms."

"Transfiguration is my strongest subject, actually." Krum said with modesty. He was a surprisingly down-to-earth young man for a Quidditch superstar, if a bit too naive for her tastes. His relief at finding two people that did not suck up to him like Malfoy or Krum's female fans (and wasn't that comparison bleach-worthy?) had been obvious, and easily exploitable. "Where's your friend, though? She's rarely around... I bet she could teach Charms to both of us." He finished with a friendly smile.

Ugh... could he be any more tactless - or obvious? At least he wasn't shallow, since he liked brainy girls best. His preference to Valeria, which Daphne and Val both agreed was the plainer blonde in their little coven, wasn't what truly annoyed the pureblood heiress. Rather, it was Krum's certainty about what he wanted. Boys were supposed to be the immature, naive ones, and here she was, a pureblood heiress trained in such matters from an early age, still undecided.

It had begun with meeting Val on the Hogwarts Express back in first year. Back then, Daphne had already worked out a tentative but fairly complex plan like any Slytherin worth her House. Get Sorted into the Green and Silver, make connections among the snakes and the ravens, keep her head down and out of politics while her network developed. Snare a father to her children that would strengthen the Greengrass blood with talent and intelligence but not politically powerful enough to become Head of the family, become a respected lady in Pureblood society while practising questionable magic and spreading her network in the background. Let the radical blood purists and Dumbledore's stooges duke it out in the foreground while she made House Greengrass slowly stronger and wealthier as their power waned. The name Greengrass would not be known as widely as the name Malfoy or Weasley, but those who knew would whisper it in the same breath as Zabini or Moon. And getting to know and grudgingly befriend the first Slytherin muggleborn in over a century had put an end to all of it.

Beyond Tracey, Daphne was not sure why she was friends with anyone else in their little group. Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived; being associated with him not only made House Greengrass painfully visible, but also a target. Neville was a good kid, well-bred, polite, and not a bad wizard, but his House alliances clashed with those of her own House - badly. Valeria was a muggleborn. A freakishly talented one perhaps, but also borderline insane in the stunts she pulled. And the less said about the _Weasel_ , the better. Even worse, she'd been thinking about Harry a great deal, lately... even with how bad a match he was for her situation. He was famous enough, powerful enough, and stubborn enough to claim control of the House if it came to that. And he was even worse politically than Neville when it came to House alliances and traditions. And yet...

"Something wrong?" Krum asked, seeing her distant, disturbed expression. She shook her head and sighed, then went back to pumping him for information she'd later pass off to Harry. She was doomed anyway; she might as well try to make it work, however futile it might be.

 **xxxx**

Potions were not Tracey's best subject. She loved taking care of animals of all kinds, the only beings that accepted her without judgement as she grew up a half-blood in a traditional pure-blooded family; cutting them up to use them for ingredients had an ickiness factor proportionate to the cuteness of the animal and the time she'd spent with it. Unfortunately, the one person in Hogwarts who knew what Tracey wanted - needed - to learn was in need of certain potions in significant amounts at the moment.

"Hagrid! Open up!" she said, kicking at the immense, twelve-foot door to the half-giant's cottage since both her hands were otherwise occupied. "It's Tracey, and I am bearing gifts!" Hagrid was the most enthusiastic and practical of teachers, but he wasn't very good in covering theory in class. Ever since Tracey had found out exactly what his Blast-Ended Skrewts were, she'd wanted to learn all about the animal handling spells and alchemy he must have used to force the mating of Manticores with Fire Crabs. Such knowledge was usually a well-guarded secret among the most successful magical beast breeders, and Hagrid's attempt was the most successful she'd ever seen for such disparity between source species. Manticores were sentient but not sapient mammals while Fire Crabs were elemental crustaceans; Tracey could not even begin to imagine how Hagrid had pulled off the mating. That did not mean she didn't genuinely like the friendly half-giant or enjoy spending hours discussing Magizoology with him, but business was business. Putting up with his wackier schemes was a small sacrifice if she could learn secrets he'd never get to use if only because Hagrid was not interested in profit at all... the man had entire bundles of unicorn and thestral hair hanging unused from his ceiling, for Merlin's sake!

"Down, Fang!" She sharply commanded as Hagrid's enormous boar hound prepared to charge at her. The unnaturally large canine immediately broke off its mock attack and lay belly-up on the ground. Tracey snorted in satisfaction; at least the dog knew who was boss between them.

She didn't have to wait long. Soon the huge door opened with an ominous groan of wood and metal. The man who came out was not Hagrid however. He was broad-shouldered, heavily muscled, and had pale skin, a freckled face, and violently orange hair. Several old burn scars peeked out from beneath his thick dragon-skin coat, the cloth too thick for elegance or speed, but perfect for heavy protection. From the stories of the most insecure, aggressively jealous, in denial member of their group she knew this must be Charlie Weasley.

"Hello there." The muscular Weasley with the friendly smirk said, taking up most of her heavy burden. To him, the several packs of ingredients and at least two small cauldrons of halfway-ready potion seemed no more a burden than Tracey's purse was to her, and she almost collapsed in relief. This was the last time she moved a potion that could not be magically resized, lightened, or spelled before it was ready, from the castle to Hagrid's place. From then on Hagrid would do all the carrying. "You must be Tracey Davis." The young man was saying, transferring both loads to one hand so he could offer a firm handshake. "Ron has told me a lot about you in his letters - and so did Hagrid just now."

"Did they, now?" Tracey said ominously, sparing a glance for the half-giant that was guiltily tidying up after his meeting with Ron's second oldest brother. Curiously, Tracey spied several packages of material and a potion or two she did not recognize and was sure Hagrid did not brew or gather. "Nothing really terrible, I hope?"

"Not from Hagrid." Charlie Weasley said with a laugh. "Though Ron had more than a few complaints. The word 'terrible' actually came up... more than once!" They all laughed at that for a moment. Then he turned around and carried her packages to Hagrid's single but enormous table. "I hear you're a fan of interesting beasts - your family's in the business, no?"

"That we are." She followed him inside, eyeing Hagrid questioningly. The normally earnest gamekeeper looked both very sad and very guilty, his expressive black eyes averted every time she looked. He seemed even more nervous about Charlie's presence than hers, though. Curious. "House Davis is more about standard breeding than... a dragon sanctuary, was it? That must be exciting!"

"That it is, that it is." He looked from her to Hagrid, then make a show of looking at his watch. "I'm afraid we'll have to exchange stories another time, though. Duty calls." And without further ado, he wished them both good evening and left. That was odd. What was a dragon handler working in a foreign sanctuary doing in Hagrid's hut? And why did Hagrid look so... sad?

"Hagrid, what's going on?" When in doubt, ask. At best, you'll learn something. At worst, you'll be thought an ignorant and an idiot and your enemies will underestimate you. "I brought everything you asked, including the latest batch of Murtlap and those Restorative Draughts. Is... is everything OK?" Suddenly, the enormous man burst into sobs, collapsing onto one of his enormous chairs around his even larger fireplace. Luckily, the chair's reinforced frame was up to supporting his one-ton bulk despite groaning ominously for a moment. Hagrid cried for several more minutes before Tracey got her answer.

"It ruddy well ain't." He growled like a freight train, hints of anger amid his obvious pain. "Norberta's bin attacked. Me think she's dyin'."

Aw, hell. And her plans to help with Hagrid's most illegal scheme while becoming his secret apprentice was going so well. They'd have to involve the others now.

Daphne was going to kill her.

 **xxxx**

Nearly two hours past midnight, someone jumped off the Astronomy Tower. Unseen under the cover of darkness and a strong disillusionment charm, they fell two hundred feet only to land upright and unharmed in the castle grounds below. Magic afforded such opportunities to those that knew how to wield it well, and the Featherweight Charm was only one of them.

Moments later, something else invisible but smaller beat unseen wings through the night, flew down at the unknown and nigh-invisible night wanderer's location and picked them up. Size disparity or not, the unseen drone carried its cargo towards its destination at nearly forty miles an hour, not registering at any of the castle's enchantments noting magical transportation, not even the spell that registered objects with flight enchantments crossing its borders. Two minutes later the 'package' reached its destination.

The youngest (and only) necromancer in Hogwarts dropped her concealment charms as soon as she reached the distant clearing in the Forbidden Forest she'd been using for the past few weeks. Too far from the castle for either Moody's eye or the castle's own detection spells picking up her activities, she prepared for the night's work. The enchantment that marked the entrance and exit of people from Hogwarts' grounds might have picked her up despite any concealment charms she might have used... if Shrinking Solution and a magical purse had not been used to conceal her presence in an extra-dimensional space the castle's enchantments did not extend.

Despite all those preparations all but ensuring she would not be interrupted, Valeria sorely missed her Time-Turner and her ability to perform any magic while under a near-unshakeable alibi and without wasting any time. Snape's detentions would soon be over and things would return to business as usual, except with the minor hurdle of having to avoid Snape's abnormally large nose being shoved into her business in the future. Her respect towards her Head of House had been waning for years now, at least as far as his competence as an educator was concerned. He might have saves her and her friends' lives in their third year, but his recent actions were inexcusable. As such, she had to take things into her own hands... as usual.

Mental calls went out at the speed of thought, searching for several targets roaming the Forest. She felt the links shifting as they obeyed, changing course to move closer. Satisfied, she reached for her now overflowing well of anger and conjured cursed fire; the highly destructive magic came to her even more easily than usual, and she turned it against the ground. Plants were washed away like leaves in a forge-fire, moisture hissed and evaporated, dried out clay and stone melted to the depth of several inches in an area easily a dozen feet in diameter. The ground glowed a dull orange as the fire died, the acrid smell of seared stone hanging heavy in the air. As the area slowly cooled, she started the second round of preparations.

The Gouging Spell carved criss-crossing lines on near-molten stone, forming runes, sigils, and arcane diagrams like a finger on soft clay. The stone would cool and harden far faster and more solidly than clay though, a construct of words and meanings forming rapidly that would be the basis for the coming magic. _Thurisaz_ for hardship and suffering, _Hagalaz_ for loss and change, _Naudiz_ for poverty and frustration, _Perthro_ for mystery and chance, _Tiwaz_ for struggle and justice, _Laguz_ for emotion and fear, _Odala_ for permanence and the moon. A circle of seven runes, a ring of seven concentric circles, a chain of seven rings. Lumps of the glassified ground the rings were carved upon were removed, one from the center of each ring, shaped into foot-long implements and sharpened as they cooled and solidified.

The nearby Forest's undergrowth stirred, the mist flowing around many shapes. Slightly shorter than Valeria herself but far wider and more muscular, the shapes shambled towards her out of the darkness. Dull grey skin, coated with patches of rust. Eerie eyes, gleaming between red and yellow. Steps heavy but oddly soundless, tread mechanical and not quite right for either human or whatever the things were. The young witch eyed them critically, especially their clumsy, unnatural gait, and sighed. She might control them through the Imperius Curse, but forcing them to act naturally and elegantly was beyond her. The power she had; what she lacked was skill and sophistication. Those would come with practice, though. What she had would be enough for the night.

The group of creatures shifted, the seven largest of their number shuffling forward. Valeria handed over the crude daggers of volcanic glass she'd just made. Forged in cursed fire, they should cut more readily than their physical sharpness should allow alone and not shatter as easily as mundane material. At a metaphysical level, they were linked to the runes both in material and magic, in power and purpose. There was only one thing left; through the Imperius she forced them to walk up to a ring of runes each, then cut their own throats. Unwillingly, unknowingly, they did as ordered. Black blood surged. Under the Imperius they felt no pain, no shock; for a few seconds more, their bodies worked just fine. They moved around, ensuring the surge of blood covered every rune. Then they died, one by one falling where they stood inside the rings of runes. Their blood, their life, their magic, it flowed into the runes, shaped by the intent of the one who wrote them.

 _"Reducto!"_

The entire array of runes, powered by seven sacrifices, disintegrated. The enormous flow of magic, far more than Valeria would be able to wield on her own for years to come, lashed out at its intended target. The Defense post was already under one major curse, cast by so powerful a wizard that Dumbledore himself could not break it without augmenting his power with one form of dark magic or another - and that the Headmaster would probably never do. The curse had unfailingly gotten rid of the Defense Professor once per year for several decades now. Unfortunately, when and how it did so was very unpredictable and usually came by the end of the year. Valeria needed something better defined and quicker-acting. She lacked the power to cast a major curse - at least for the time being - but by supplementing her own magic with blood sacrifice she had more than enough power to curse the bastard with the magical eye in one subtle, very specific way; to be far more likely to fall into any plot or trap she personally enacted. She still had to carry out such plans or traps on her own, but now her target was far less likely to escape them through luck, fate, or circumstance.

Red and brown sand shifted as she walked up to the seven rapidly cooling corpses. They'd served a purpose, but not every purpose she intended to put them in yet. Raising her wand at the closest body, she started casting the complex, powerful, dark magic that would turn them into Inferi. Once she was done, they'd rise under her commands, return to the forest, and bury themselves in likely hiding places so that inquisitive and intelligent beings within the Forbidden Forest would not become aware of their presence. Their still-living brethren would await the next time she'd need of them, and the violent blood-letting that happened in this place would bring more of their kind. The dark witch smiled. Deep, deep under the thrall of the Imperius Curse, the primitive intellects she'd enslaved knew fear.

She'd never liked Red Caps before, but the self-sustaining source of life sacrifices and corpses was beginning to change her mind.


	19. Friendships

****Sorry for the long hiatus, everyone. I've finally resolved some issues with my account that prevented me from posting, and I'm transferring over new content I've written in the meantime. Expect a new chapter every three or four days.  
****

 ** **xxxx xxxx xxxx****

"Harry, the First Task is in two weeks." Daphne reminded him, frustration evident in her face. "Going through the Forest to help Hagrid will cost us a whole day of preparation!" It was their tenth meeting in the Hogwarts library since Harry had been chosen as the fourth Champion and finally the Gryffindor boy was making some progress... which was why Daphne was so annoyed that he used this excuse to stop studying. If that was the Gryffindor work ethic when it came to averting death by stupidly dangerous international competition, the Greengrass heiress had no idea how they passed their exams.

"Hagrid is our friend. Hell, he was my first friend, the one who introduced me to the Wizarding World." Harry shook his head. "If he needs our help, we are going. Plus, if I study one more hour, my head's gonna burst." Then again, Daphne was beginning to realize Harry learned much better by doing rather than studying; his improvement in their evening practice sessions had been scary fast.

"Gryffindors!" the Slytherin girl swore, her tone alone telling Harry exactly what she thought about his decision. "Why does every little problem need to be solved by you and you alone? For once I'd like to see you care about you, not everyone else." Stupid hero complex complicating her life. Why couldn't he be a little bit selfish, even when faced with the dangers of the Triwizard Tournament? Didn't he realize that whoever had entered him against his will wanted to see him dead?

"That advice would be far more persuasive if you followed it yourself." Oh, he didn't go there! And he had the temerity to smirk, the bastard! "Yet for some reason you, Tracey and Valeria keep following me into danger every year."

"We enjoy the view." Tracey said as she and Neville met them in the Library entrance, eyebrows arching and lips stretched in a mocking smirk. "For a midget Lion you are surprisingly good looking when seen from certain angles." Seeing Harry's rapidly reddening face, the brunette witch cackled, playing up to the Muggle stereotype as she often did.

"And where were you two off to?" Daphne demanded after going through some calming mental exercises to avoid matching Harry's blush. "We were supposed to meet half an hour ago."

"In the Gryffindor tower, of course," the last member of their little group announced as she faded into visibility right next to Daphne, making her jump in surprise. Harry, on the other hand, merely smiled. He must have noticed the Disillusioned girl's approach and said nothing. "Good job by the way."

"You people are impossible." Daphne protested with a groan, not remotely for the first time. Then she frowned as what the other blonde had said registered. "Gryffindor tower? Tracey, this whole expedition was your idea. Why risk detention now, of all times?"

"Stop being such a worry wart Daph," her oldest friend said with a false air of indifference that didn't fool the pureblood scion for a moment. "We just appropriated some needed supplies, is all..." The wrapped up bundle Neville was carrying led some credence to the claim... but would he have needed help from Tracey inside his own house?

"Right." Why did she even try? Attempting to keep her group of friends from meeting an untimely end or worse, suffering Snape's displeasure, was like herding cats. No, not cats; kneazles. Kneazles that were part Graphorn. "If you're so determined to break school rules and venture into the most dangerous area in all of Scotland so you can meet a half-giant and his fully grown, "domesticated" dragon, who am I to stop you?"

And they claimed to be her friends... she wouldn't change them for all the gold in Grinngots.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The last time any of them had ventured into the Forbidden Forest, they'd done so on foot. They'd also trekked through the massive ancient trees, thick undergrowth, and eerily perpetual mist for an afternoon before reaching their destination, not to mention encountering magic-resistant, wizard-eating, sentient spiders, murderous, inhumanly-strong, wizard-eating midgets, and unicorn-slaying, wizard-murdering psychopaths. That adventure had left Valeria with a healthy respect for the depths of the magical, monster-infested forest, and an unhealthy but viscerally satisfying hatred of Redcaps. It had also ensured she'd never enter the forest proper on her own, not without a small army of inferi, dominated thralls, and animated guardians to protect her anyway. That Hagrid had been delving into that same forest on his own for over fifty years - since he'd been younger than Valeria was now - made it hard to decide whether to admire his bravery and skill at not-dying, or obliviate herself of all traces of the fact before its mere existence murdered her common sense.

"You can all ride a broom for a few miles, right?" Harry asked as he unwrapped the bundle Neville had brought with him from Gryffindor tower. It was full of broomsticks, one of them easily recognizable as the Firebolt his Godfather Sirius Black had bought for him last year. "Much faster than walking through the forest, not to mention safer."

"Oh, thank Merlin!" Daphne exclaimed, then claimed another familiar-looking broomstick. "You're less suicidal than I thought."

"Not by any great margin." Valeria said, sotto voce. "Unless I miss my guess, the broom you're holding is Katie Bell's." Not that it was a hard guess; Flint had paid her to jinx all the Gryffindor brooms the year before. She'd studied the flight and stability spells on them for some time, then jinxed Flint into believing she'd jinxed them of course. "In fact, those are the whole Gryffindor team's brooms, except for Wood's." She threw a mock glare at Neville and Tracey. "Do I want to know how you two managed to... appropriate them?"

"It's not what you think." Neville immediately denied, blushing a bit.

"Naah, it's far worse." Tracey snickered. "Neville here borrowed the Gryffindor Chasers' brooms for an evening by trading them his best refined Bubotuber Pus. I hear it's almost as good as a Beautification Potion."

"Really?" Good for him, Valeria thought. It was good to see the once-timid boy coming out of his shell. Interacting with the three older girls should give him a measure of confidence and prestige, if Harry's flabbergasted expression was any indication. "How about the Twins? Don't tell me heavy-duty acne cure convinced them too."

"Don't be absurd," their brunette friend retorted, though Valeria got the impression the words were not meant for her. "I had to perform a far more difficult and challenging service."

"As long as they agreed." Harry said impatiently, completely missing the implications... not to mention forgetting to check the Marauder's Map. "We've lost enough time as it is."

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

What had once taken them hours of walking through the woods was reduced to a mere ten-minute flight over the mist-covered green sea that was the Forbidden Forest. Most of that time was needed to locate the ravine and cave Hagrid had raised Fluffy in once upon a time, and was now using as a kennel for Norberta. It should have not been hard, given the size of the front door and the lack of other man made structures on the mountains in the far side of the forest. Unfortunately, none of them had equated the phrase 'Norberta has been wounded' with 'someone was suicidal enough to attack a dragon in her nest'.

They found the shattered door, a crude construction of wood and iron as large as Hogwarts' front gate, over a hundred feet from where it should have been. Someone - probably several someones - had tied dozens of thick ropes to it then dragged it with enough force to rip it off its hinges. Given that a nearly fully grown Cerberus had been incapable of that feat, nobody in their little group wanted to fly any lower than they had to, choosing the safety of the skies over the monster-infested forest. This just showed that contrary to popular belief, wizards did possess some common sense.

They flew over the broken gate and into the ravine, noticing how the rocks were blackened or even half-melted all over the place, all traces of flora or fauna eradicated by a dragon's close presence. More than one pile of scorched, heat-twisted bones lay in the narrow path leading up to the cave, and Valeria could have sworn she saw more than one crushed human skull amid the remains of several large herbivores. Fortunately, it didn't look large enough to be Hagrid's, no matter how much her fears tried to convince her otherwise. Harry must have shared her unease, because he stopped in mid-air and looked worriedly around.

"Anybody see any sign of Hagrid?" he asked, his wand out and pointed immediately at every sign of danger.

"He was supposed to meet us here." Tracey said in a shaky voice barely above a whisper, adding to the reasons they should immediately fly up to a thousand feet then make for the safety of Hogwarts with all haste.

"I don't think dragons can eat giants, even a half-giant like Hagrid." Daphne added without any hint of fear. She was methodically layering Flame-Freezing and Shielding Charms between frequent repetitions of _Cave Inimicum_ ; even if her defenses didn't quite measure up to dragonfire, she'd get enough advance warning to dodge. "On the other hand, they can almost certainly eat us. Any ideas?"

Valeria was already using a _Protego Totalum_ as a personal defense along with the single dose of Fire-walking Philter she'd managed to brew in short notice, so she felt safe enough to fly closer to the ground in search of some clues. Harry on the other hand had no such defenses - and he was already closer to the ground than her. Gryffindors!

"Now would be a good time for a dragon expert to turn up," the Boy-Who-Lived said bitterly. "Or for Ron to be talking to me. Could... could one of you message him or something? Hagrid could be in serious trouble. I don't think he'd refuse to help."

"I'm not so sure about that." Tracey said, her trademark smirk making a momentary return. "We did ask him to come with us, you see; he refused. Some nonsense about the 'Great Triwizard Champion' not needing help from mere mortals."

"Oh." Harry seemed to deflate at this new evidence that his best friend was still being a bone-headed idiot.

"Don't look so glum, Potter. I'm a Slytherin; my personal bullshit detector is good enough to tell when someone is trying to hurt their friends by being immature pricks." Tracey's smirk widened into a smile. "So Neville and I decided not to take no for an answer."

And with that announcement, the best Disillusionment spell Valeria had ever seen a student cast faded away, revealing an immobilized Ron Weasley hovering between Tracey's and Neville's brooms.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Ron Weasley was sitting in the fourth year Gryffindor dormitories, on his own, brooding about recent events. Most other Gryffindors weren't talking to him, due to what they saw as a betrayal towards the great and perfect Harry Potter. The famous Harry Potter, who ended up in the front page of the Daily Prophet without even meaning to. The heroic Harry Potter, who saved the Wizarding World every Tuesday and twice on Sundays. The rich Harry Potter, who could buy anything he wanted.

Ron gritted his teeth and tried to banish the ugly thoughts. He'd tried to be friends with Dean and Seamus who, for reasons Ron didn't quite understand, didn't really like Harry like most Gryffindors did. It had not been the same, of course. He laughed at their jokes, followed their discussions (including those about Muggle football he knew nothing about), and tried to join in in their activities, but nothing felt right. He knew what was wrong. Deep down, the part of Ronald Weasley that was a loyal friend screamed the truth to him every passing moment. That part of him however was too far buried under his doubts about himself, his fear of obscurity and inadequacy having grown over the years due to his home environment, and his not inconsiderable failing of laziness to act.

"Still moping, are we?"

The dry, mocking, girl's voice had him jumping off his position and nearly hitting his head on a bedpost, only to stare at the red-headed third-year lounging on Harry's bed five feet from him.

"Ginny! What are you doing here?" He scowled. "And how did you get in without me noticing you?"

"Magic, of course." Ron's little sister said with a smirk. "The real question is why are you here, Ronald."

"Hey!" he protested. "Only mum calls me Ronald - and you know I hate it."

"Really?" the annoying midget giggled. "Because I distinctly remember the Twins calling you that. Percy, too." She frowned pensively. "Bill and Dad as well."

"Piss off!"

"I get it, I get it, you're furious." She turned upside-down, resting her crossed legs on the wall over Harry's pillows and fixed him with gleaming green eyes. "But who are you really angry with, little brother?"

"If you're gonna repeat what everyone else is saying, you can leave right now." Ron growled as he turned her back to her. "And I'm older than you!"

"I don't know, Ron. I've learned so many things lately... experienced a slightly different point of view..." She laughed, even as Ron refused to to look at her. "It should have been horrifying, everything that happened in this castle. But... watching it from the... sidelines, so to speak... I feel older." She giggled girlishly, at odds with her serious attitude. "Take it as a friendly warning, one sibling to another; stop being a total arse!"

"Let me guess," Ron replied glumly "you're gonna tell me I need to go back to Harry and the others." He snorted, but couldn't quite hide the hurt in his voice. "You and everyone else in Gryffindor."

"Don't be absurd Ron, I'm your sister!" She sat up then jumped from Harry's bed to his own, nearly throwing him off it in the process. "I'm telling you to do what feels right for you!" She blew off several crimson strands that had fallen over her face and stared at his eyes from less than a foot away. "Besides, I totes hate those Slytherin cows."

Ron retreated from the crazy wildcat that was his sister. She'd always been quick to anger and not subtle at all, and always played dirty when she fought with any of them... but the last couple of months since the World Cup she'd... changed. She was more assertive, was quicker with her wand, even sounded all grown up...

"You're making that silly brooding face again - stop it!" Ginny commanded as she got off the bed. "Start thinking on how to fix this mess you put yourself in, instead."

"Oh yeah?" he challenged, for a moment the banter with Ginny taking his mind off the feelings of inadequacy. "And what will you be doing while I'm being all mature and stuff?"

"I'm going to find your new friend Dean and get a few hours of practice." She stretched like a cat and stalked off. "I do need to get ready for when Harry comes around, you know."

"When Harry comes around?" Ron asked nobody in particular, then his eyes went wide when a previously unfathomable idea smashed into his train of thought. "Ginny!" he shouted after his departing sister. "What are you going to practice with Dean?"

"Snogging, obviously!" Ginny said, then vanished down the staircase to the common room before Ron could follow.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

After much contemplation and cursing himself for his mistakes, Ron had come to a decision; he'd go back to Harry and tell him how sorry he was for being a shitty friend. Not because the rest of Gryffindor had told him to. Not because Ginny had kicked his metaphorical arse until he realized how much of a fool he had been, but because Harry, Neville, and Tracey were his friends. He wasn't sure whether he agreed with Ginny about the two blonde Slytherin girls, and really didn't share her reasons for it (and wasn't that new development a huge can of worms - what was he going to tell Mum?), but they were not that bad either.

He knew he wasn't perfect. If there had ever been someone who'd seen his many faults more often than he had, what with always being compared to his older brothers, any of his accomplishments being hardly worth the bother since he'd be only repeating what the rest of the family already did, Ron had yet to meet them. But taking it out on his friends... that blunder was all on him. And however much he whined, however long he grumbled, Ron Weasley would own up to his mistakes. Besides, the other five might need him to point out how mental their usual plans always were. Seriously, trying to sabotage Krum by pretending to be his girlfriends? The enemy champion would lose far more time if his fan club thought he was single and pursued him every moment of every day.

Ron had already gotten up, his heart beating with new resolve to fix the friendships he'd almost broken, when Neville walked into the fourth year boys' dormitories.

"Hey Neville." Ron greeted the other boy hesitantly. Maybe he could start mending fences right away!

"Oh... hi Ron." Neville said, then looked away from Ron, his every move suddenly jumpy. Ron frowned at him. Why was Neville acting so... timidly? He'd been growing bolder ever since Sprout's invitation into some extracurricular Herbology programs.

"Look, Neville..." Ron paused, not quite knowing how to continue for a moment. Then his determination redoubled and he plunged on. "Do you know where Harry is? I... need to talk to him."

"I..." Neville was obviously uncomfortable now, practically looking for the quickest escape route... or maybe for some way to Apparate even inside Hogwarts. Ron didn't have time to ask him about his peculiar behaviour however, for someone else interrupted their very awkward non-conversation. Ron was even relieved, momentarily.

 _'Immobulus!'_

Ron froze in mid-motion, the holding spell hitting him in his unprotected back as he had forgotten to renew his Shield Charm during his long brooding session. Then the air shimmered, and Tracey faded into visibility before his eyes.

"What's up with you, Nev?" the Slytherin brunette demanded in a furious whisper. "You nearly gave everything away!"

"Well, sorry for not feeling OK at abducting one of my friends, your highness!" Neville replied rather scathingly. Ron wondered how much the Slytherin girls were rubbing off of him if they'd corrupted Neville so far.

"Whatever." Tracey rolled her eyes, then brandished her wand threateningly in Ron's direction. Holding Charm or not, the Gryffindor boy gulped audibly. "You go take care of transportation. I really need to concentrate to pull off a good Disillusionment, but we should be ready by the time you're back."

Neville went. Being forced to passively witness a course of events that included him being flown over the Forbidden Forest under invisibility didn't make Ron have any second thoughts about his latest resolution. It really didn't; he was a good and forgiving friend like that.

He still wanted to punch one of the Slytherin girls, though. Deep down, he knew this new insane adventure was all their fault.


	20. Big Trouble

**Friendship is a great thing, and stuff. Consequences are a 'thing' as well, even when they sometimes come up three years (or books) later.  
**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"Bloody hell!"

Ron Weasley had betrayed his best friend over his own feelings of inadequacy, accused Harry of entering the very dangerous Triwizard Tournament for glory and riches. Then he'd been shunned by most of Gryffindor for it, been told off by his little sister, and was finally kidnapped from within Gryffindor tower by two other friends - Neville Longbottom and Tracey Davis - so he could meet with Harry whether he liked it or not... for the express reason of making up with said best friend under pain of being locked in a broom closet with him for the foreseeable future. The threat was real, too; Tracey had demonstrated proficiency with both the Permanent Sticking Charm and the Invisibility Charm that would be used on the door of said broom closet. Meddling bloody Slytherin witches.

Yet even he was stunned at the magnitude of someone else's lack of sense whose result now stood before him. Fifty feet from snout to the end of its ridged tail if it was an inch, thicker in the middle than a Muggle city bus, with feet as thick as tree-trunks, claws like broadswords, a wingspan probably wider than it was long, and inch-thick scales harder than steel plates covering it from end to end, the dragon did not look at all like the dying victim Tracey had claimed it was. Sure, it might have a couple dozen arrow shafts thicker than his thumb and as long as Ron was tall sticking out of the more vulnerable areas in its belly and the base of its wings, it might have lost enough blood to kill a human a dozen times over and painted this cave red, but those were minor inconveniences for a dragon. If horror stories of dragons that tore through whole squads of careless handlers despite wounds that would kill most other beings from his brother Charlie had not been enough to tell him that, the incinerated remains of several large beings and the tremendous damage to the cave around him would have.

"I don't think Norberta is in any danger." Ron said to everyone else's relief. His words were underscored by an enormous snort from the female dragon, the yellow-white flames fanning out of her mouth making stone sizzle and droop like so much wax where they touched the cave floor. "In fact, I'd say she's in perfectly good health and we... err... should be going now."

"Oh please, she's perfectly friendly." The Davis idiot announced with an insane smile and fondness in her voice. "And she's hurt! We have to help her!"

"Well, there are two problems with that," the redhead Gryffindor said. "First, that's _yellow_ dragonfire. Even adult wizards need a lot of practice to block it, and even then they don't always succeed." Which was rather odd; Norwegian Ridgebacks like Norberta gained fire-breathing very young and could maintain it for long periods, but their fire wasn't that hot. "Secondly, that's a _fat_ dragon."

Norberta produced an angry growl like an exploding volcano and stomped on the ground like a petulant teen. Except her leg was the size of a small wagon and literally shook the cave around them.

"Correction," Ron said with false cheerfulness "she's a fat, hungry dragon. Hagrid obviously fed her frequently and a lot, and until he turns up with her next meal I'm not volunteering to replace it." Now that Ron was overcoming his initial shock at seeing the friendly half-giant's ginormous pet, he noticed more and more oddities about her. The hotter fire could be due to the better food like the dragon's excessive girth, but that didn't explain the size; Norberta was slightly too large for a Ridgeback, especially given her age. Also, her scales were not the usual green-brown but a weird dark purple, and her ridges, claws, and spikes were larger.

"We can't leave her like this, Ron," Harry protested. "She's bleeding and in pain. Hagrid asked for our help and..."

"Harry mate, I'm sorry for the whole Tournament thing, I really am. I was in the wrong and I freely admit it." He shot a glare at the Slytherin girls, daring them to speak up. They didn't. Daphne and Valeria were whispering instead, sparing the occasional suspicion-loaded glance not at him but at Tracey. Weird, but at least they wouldn't interrupt. "But I'm telling you now, you're dead wrong. There's something off with Norberta, and it ain't them arrows giving her the equivalent of a few scrapes."

"Before you two start fighting again, I want to try something," the shorter of the two Slytherin blondes said as Harry's face was turning almost as red as Ron's ears did when he was about to blow up in anger. The two boys turned to the young witch, their disagreement put on hold but not forgotten. Valeria drew her unusually thick Cherry wand and pointed it at the unnaturally calm dragon whispering an incantation Ron didn't quite get. Daphne must have though, for her pale eyebrows shot up in surprise, her eyes going as wide as Ginny's had when their mother had sent her her first Howler. The spell produced a nearly invisible distortion in the air, hit the dragon squarely in the chest, and bounced off. Ron snorted. What did they expect? All dragons were magic-resistant.

"Are you sure you cast that... spell correctly?" the Slytherin princess asked her muggleborn friend, apparently shaken by the results.

"Oh yes." Valeria confirmed, a dangerous gleam in her eye. She looked at the rest of the group, her sharp gaze fixing upon Tracey... who apart from a thoroughly shocked Neville had been the quietest in their little group despite her love for magical creatures. "Say Tracey... you don't happen to know anything about Hagrid's latest project in the west bank of the Black Lake, do you?"

"Er..." the brunette looked mightily uncomfortable now, looking for quick escape routes. Ron recognized the tactic; it was the Weasley boys' favourite when Mrs Weasley was on the warpath.

"And people say I am insane." Valeria said with a long-suffering sigh. "Experimenting with dragons is the kind of thing that leads to six-eyed, fire-breathing basilisks the size of the Hogwarts Express."

The rest of them stared at the unusually thick, purple-scaled Norwegian Ridgeback in alarm. Naturally, it failed to suddenly grow to be over three hundred feet long.

"Right." Harry said, obviously dismissing Ron's and Valeria's warnings. "What can we do to heal Norberta?"

Ron wanted to be Harry's friend. He really did. Not only did he enjoy having someone to talk to and do stupid but fun things with that wasn't family, but Harry was both a great and reliable friend, and the first person that had not demanded anything of Ron beyond friendship. Ron had felt so bad over the past week he'd not been talking to Harry, was so ashamed of his betrayal, that he hadn't complained at all about the kidnapping attempt.

But sometimes... sometimes Harry could be too stubborn for his own good. The incident with the Troll in their first year, and his insisting they follow the lost Gryffindor girl... except there hadn't been one. Going after the Philosopher's Stone. Insisting they search for the Chamber of Secrets. Baiting the Dementors in their third year. Rushing to help them against the Inferi without even the simplest plan. Agreeing with the Slytherin girls about confronting Sirius Black. It was as if he didn't care about the dangers at all. Ron did - very much so; all those events had been terrifying. And yet he'd followed Harry as a loyal friend should.

Except... was he really a good friend, not stopping Harry from putting his life at risk? He was now trying to help a freaking huge dragon! Charlie was an experienced dragon-handler, with his own full team of twelve witches and wizards, and yet they still sometimes failed to control dragons smaller than what Norberta had become. This Tournament business... Harry knew it was dangerous, had been angry because Ron had left him to face the danger without support for a really stupid reason. Was letting Harry get close to a dragon not the same thing?

He didn't pay much attention as the others tried to use Vanishing Spells to get rid of the arrows. He did cheer for Harry when he managed it first, shortly followed by Daphne. He kept his wand ready and a Levitation Charm at the tip of his tongue as everyone failed to heal Norberta's wounds with spells, and was even more ready to pull everyone back when Neville and Valeria started levitating Dittany extract and healing concoctions closer to Norberta. How the normally aggressive beast let them treat its wounds and feed it potions without attacking was a miracle. They should have waited for Hagrid! The friendly half-giant asked for their help and it was his dragon after all...

They should have gotten rid of it back in first year. If only Ron had thought to ask Charlie to take it to Romania...

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"Is your staff _trying_ to ruin my career, Dumbledore?" Madam Bones, Minister of Magic, asked as patiently and non-murderously as she could.

"Don't start blaming Dumbledore, Amy." Sirius Black, Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black cackled. "You must remember how Hagrid was back in our day; he loved everything that lived and was a class five threat - gave old Kettleburn nightmares, he did." The mentally still-teenaged rascal rested his feet on the Headmaster's desk to the amusement of several of the portraits of Headmasters past, not to mention Dumbledore himself. "I doubt he's changed at all."

"That is no excuse for being found sneaking in the Forest with several dragon-sized doses of Sleeping Potion, five hundred pounds of raw Murtlap - presumably for bait - and a cauldron full of a borderline illegal friendship potion." The former head of the DMLE and former redhead groaned, then hit herself with a mild Cheering Charm, an act that had become routine since taking the position of Minister mere months before having to organize an event even more complicated than the Quidditch World Cup. "At least it was Charlie Weasley that found him. If Madam Maxine or Karkarov had instead..."

"It is my belief Hagrid acted out of concern for Harry," the aging Headmaster announced. "He certainly didn't want to hurt the dragons, and as for the other champions... Hagrid never saw any of the wonders of life and magic as a threat unless they attacked first. Why would he try to protect adult witches and wizards from them?" The Grand Sorcerer's beard moved imperceptibly, indicating a smile hidden beneath its voluminous torrent of silver strands. "I always rather envied him his capacity for acceptance and friendship without ulterior motives."

"Yes, yes, it's a very good trait to have - until a dragon eats you." Amelia replied drily. It didn't faze Dumbledore in the least, and Sirius Bloody Black had the temerity to cackle again. She'd deal with him soon enough, Lord Black or no. She was his girlfriend's boss after all, and had lots of memories of Sirius escapades in Hogwarts to use as ammunition. "The only reason I'm not arresting him on the spot is because he didn't do something illegal the DMLE can prove." That, and as a Minister Amelia no longer had the authority to directly arrest criminals. "We don't need the political backlash an attempt to sabotage the Tournament would cause now, so do try to keep Hagrid away from the Dragons until the task is finished."

Her two co-conspirators promised to do so. She didn't believe them in the least.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

It was almost curfew by the time the six friends finally flew back to Hogwarts. Fixing Norberta had taken hours of work; they'd run out of potions and they'd had to brew more in the wilderness. Neville had provided several key ingredients with restorative and protective properties he'd taken to carrying around at all times. Transfigured into colour-coded pebbles and shrunk to the size of Knuts meant the young Herbology prodigy could safely carry much greater quantities than normal. In fact, he'd happily announced to everyone who'd listen that transportation and storage of fresh magical plants was now a project he was working on along with Professor Sprout. To nobody's great surprise, Valeria had provided a full Potions kit complete with several cauldrons out of her purse. Ron vaguely remembered his Dad explaining why space expansion charms shouldn't be used like that, but quickly dismissed that train of thought as irrelevant, not to mention hypocritical. Sure, they might be illegal or something but a) Slytherins didn't care about laws and b) his Dad had finished that speech with a presentation of his internally expanded and flying Ford Anglia.

"Fire!" Harry shouted, pointing towards a distant clearing at least a couple of miles away. Ron wondered - not for the first time - how Harry could see far better than most people despite wearing glasses... well enough to play Seeker in fact. Then his best friend's change of course registered and he scrambled to follow. At least Neville and Tracey had thought to bring a sixth broom so he didn't have to be carried along via a Levitation Charm.

"Come on, mate!" he shouted after him "We need to get back to the castle before Snape and McGonagal join forces in thinking up a suitable punishment."

"That's absurd, Weasley!" the Greengrass scion commented as she pulled up next to him. "Our Head of House can think of any punishment McGonagal would and more... then triple it before involving some disgusting Potions-related task to it."

She seemed to be proud of how harsh the old bat could be which, given that Snape was responsible for all Slytherins, sounded retarded coming from a Slytherin. Unfortunately, Ron didn't get the opportunity to give voice to his feelings, because the six friends had finally gotten close enough to the source of the occasional bursts of fire to look upon them in horror and despair.

In a glade in the Forbidden Forest far closer to Hogwarts any of them felt comfortable with (except possibly Tracey) there were _four more dragons._


	21. Publicity and Preparation

**A big thank you to all of you for being understanding about the hiatus and welcoming me back. Currently working on new chapters for Potter vs Paradox as well as a few new, non-Potterverse stories. The next chapter titled 'Urulóki' will be uploaded the coming Sunday.  
**

 **Disclaimer: did the designers of the First Task bring in dragons of roughly equal capabilities so there would be no unfairness in the task due to luck of the draw? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me; it belongs to J.K. Rowling and this story is entirely free and for fun.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"Well, the big grey two-legged one is easy." Ron said after watching the recording of the four dragons in the Omnioculars once again.

"The word you're looking for is 'bipedal'," Valeria interrupted, her head still trying to disappear into one of the Hogwarts library's largest tomes.

"That's your priority? How is a fancy word gonna help now?" The youngest Weasley boy shook his head and continued with his explanation. "Anyway Harry, it's an Ukrainian Ironbelly. Gringotts uses them for security; they're freakishly tough and strong, even for dragons. Bill once told me a story about how one of them carried off a sailing ship, or something."

"Great! I don't suppose a Shield Charm could help?" To say that Harry was unhappy about the rapidly approaching First Task would be an understatement.

"Not unless you could cast at least a Protego Maxima," their spell research expert answered, letting the heavy tome land on the desk they'd occupied for the last few hours with a loud 'THUMP'. "Dragons are not just supernaturally strong; every fiber of their being is infused with powerful magic." For the first time that year, Valeria was worried about her Gryffindor friend... and not only because of the dragons. "Honestly, Harry, I don't think you have many options. I'd suggest -"

"Why don't we see what the other dragons he has to face are, before we make suggestions?" Daphne interrupted, glaring at the other blonde for some reason. "Tracey? Ron?"

"The spiky one is definitely a Horntail." Tracey announced, having won the Omnioculars after a brief struggle with the red-headed boy. Ron might be the tallest in their group, but he'd also never seriously worked in his life. The short brunette on the other hand carried a surprising amount of muscle in her compact frame after countless hours of working with various beasts both in Hogwarts and in her home. Plus, she fought as dirty as all Slytherins did. "Not as strong and tough as the Ironbelly, but faster, more vicious, and known to use its spiked tail to impale victims."

"The... green... thick one... is a Romanian Longhorn." Ron hissed, trying to keep his face from twisting into a pained grimace. He wisely decided to keep his distance from the Davis hellion but he'd be damned if he lost this opportunity to prove his superior knowledge of dragons. "Don't let its slightly shorter length and wingspan fool you; do you see how its thickness and horns make it look like an enormous bull? It's the fastest dragon on the ground and likes to gore its victims before roasting them. When charging, it can outrun some broomsticks."

Harry deflated more and more with their every word, his hopes for some trick or obscure spell letting him avoid certain and violent death dwindling. Unlike most of his other adventures so far, he had not chosen to get involved in the Triwizard Tournament. Someone else had done so for him... Moody had been right; this was an assassination attempt. And the worst thing was that almost nobody but his friends believed he had not entered his name in the Goblet of Fire by choice. He wondered whether his cursed fame would have allowed him to quit, even if the binding magical contract had not been an issue. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles creaking in protest. He'd give anything - anything at all - to have a family. Fame, riches, even his own magic to see his Mum and Dad for a moment, get a single hug from them. Why did people have to be so stupid? Nobody would want to be in his place if they thought about it...

"Harry mate, are you listening?" Ron's voice broke through his dark thoughts and brought him back to reality. Dragons; he had to learn how to beat them. "I was saying we don't know what the last dragon is. The row of spikes on its back and its black, scorched-looking scales don't really match any species Charlie told me about."

"Let him be Weasley." Daphne admonished, fixing Harry with her patented inscrutable stare. "I think... you overloaded his brain." Harry could tell that wasn't what she really thought. The miniscule, almost imperceptible nod the tall Slytherin blonde gave him confirmed it, without letting the others know something was wrong. "You do realise you've been talking about all the ways those dragons could kill him, right?"

"Well excuse me for wanting to prepare my friend against a deadly threat!" Ron shouted back, and Harry thanked the anti-eavesdropping charm Valeria had used to defend the six of them from the horrors of an angry Madam Pomfrey.

"Harry already has a solution to the problem..." the muggleborn witch in question offered grimly.

"I do?!" Relief spread through every inch of his body as the mounting tension dropped considerably and was replaced by elation. He didn't have to die for the stupid Tournament!

"Indeed." Valeria continued despite the return of Daphne's murderous glares. What was going on? "Remember Moody's lessons?"

"Oh." Silence fell among them as they understood what she really suggested. Harry's brief hopes were crushed once again, the emotion that had become his closest friend lately filling the void left by their absence.

"Harry please, hear me out!" Apparently, even the one Slytherin that was more socially oblivious than Harry could see his response written across his face. Imagine that. "You could handle a normal dragon with any of the Unforgivables. It's not even illegal, and you are strong enough to cast them. So what if they're Dark Magic - this is your life we're talking about!"

"True. But I choose not to use them." He retorted, managing not to hex the girl before him through a supreme effort of will. "Do you even understand what those curses do?"

"Of course I..."

"No you don't!" Harry shouted at the top of his voice. He was glad Neville was spending the evening tending his Herbology experiments. "I am not going to use the same magic that destroyed my family and so many others. It is our choices that define us and if I did... how would I be different from Voldemort?"

"That's absurd; you wouldn't be killing and torturing anyone - you'd be saving your own life!" Valeria held Harry's gaze for nearly a minute, then looked away. "One of these days you'll realise you can't hold back when fighting against an insane, nigh-immortal murderer, Harry. You might not care about your own life, but what about others? Would you use Dark Magic to save them? If not, would you be willing to live with their deaths and the knowledge you could have averted them?"

Harry got up and walked away. The last thing he heard before crossing the boundary of the anti-eavesdropping charm was Daphne shouting at the shorter blonde at the top of her voice.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Potions that evening came easily to him. He welcomed the distraction of mixing the ingredients, focusing on the slowly bubbling cauldron and not sparing a single glance for the half of the classroom full of people dressed in green and silver. If every last bit of his attention was on mixing the ingredients, the way they melted away and joined together to perform a complex task none could have managed individually, then he would not see the girls' worried glances or Snape's sneer, would not hear their subtle attempts to communicate or Snape's derogatory commentary.

He added the last ingredient at exactly the perfect moment, in exactly the right quantity, and watched as the drop of poison joined the other ingredients, revealing its nature to them and helping them perform their task; fighting the poison itself when it came in greater quantities. He wondered if he had been wrong. If wizards, like the art of brewing, needed to use the Dark Arts in order to fight the Dark Arts. He refused to believe it. Dumbledore had explained it to him back in second year after he'd confessed his doubts, his worries after his encounter with the shade of Tom Riddle. The truth of that encounter he'd shared with nobody else, not even his friends. Valeria had been unconscious, had not heard how Riddle claimed they were similar; in their powers, their parentage, even their looks.

Harry doubted the muggleborn witch would be as worried about that revelation as he had been... as he still was. Valeria did not just use the Dark Arts; she was proud of her accomplishments. And yet she'd used them to help him and others. Much like Professor Lupin, his favourite Professor and the only adult wizard who'd taught him how to protect himself beyond just the basic Defense subject, had used his werewolf form to save him and all his friends from Death Eaters at the expense of both his greatest secret and his freedom. Had Harry been wrong then? Had Dumbledore's assurances been less than the truth? Should he have listened to the Sorting Hat?

The classroom door opened and Colin Creevey marched in, a third-year Gryffindor known for stalking Harry, hanging around the Carrow Twins, taking photos of everything and everyone without permission, and stalking Harry. Harry frowned. Colin was excited; very few people liked the young boy when he was excited, least of all Harry himself. The animosity was primarily due to Colin and the Carrow Twins circulating 'official' autographs of the Boy Who Lived, complete with Wizarding Photos of a very shocked Harry after the three miscreants had jumped him around a corner the week before last. He'd done everything he could to limit the offending pamphlets to Gryffindor, but wasn't sure he had succeeded.

"Yes, what is it?" Snape asked, staring down his hooked nose at the positively vibrating Creep... err Creevey

"They sent me to get Harry Potter, sir." Not even an excited Colin would dare be disrespectful to Snape. "Mr Bagman wants him for the Wand-Weighing ceremony."

"Mr Potter still has a lesson of Potions to complete," said Snape coldly. "He will come upstairs when this class is finished."

Colin went pink. Harry surreptitiously hid the vial of finished antidote he'd just filled out of his cauldron, hoping neither Snape nor Colin the menace had spotted it.

"Sir - sir, all the champions have got to go," Colin said, his excitement overcoming even the terror Snape's displeasure usually inspired. " I think they want to take photographs…"

Harry would have given anything he owned to have stopped Colin saying those last few words. He chanced half a glance at Ron. Fortunately his friend shrugged, have him a thumbs up, and turned back to his own potion. The crushing doubt Harry had been labouring under until now suddenly felt as light as a feather. It was enough for him to speak up.

"Sir, I only need five minutes to finish," he lied to Colin's dismay and Snape's surprise. Maybe if he was late, he could avoid having his photograph taken again?

"Please, sir - he's got to be on time," squeaked Cohn. "All the champions…"

"You can wait five minutes, Mr Creevey." Snape snapped. "Ten points from Gryffindor for interrupting my class. Another ten for barging in uninvited."

For the first time in forever, Harry felt like he could kiss the man.  
 **  
**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Valeria bottled her own antidote as soon as Harry walked out of the class, but didn't hand it over to Professor Snape yet. Having nothing to do would make what she was actually doing all too obvious. Instead she calmly waited in her seat, occasionally fiddled with the remaining potion in her cauldron, and above all paid attention to her watch. Harry would kill her if he knew - the others might too. But after his stubborn, bull-headed insistence on seeing the world as black and white during their brainstorming session the day before, he obviously couldn't be trusted to take care of himself.

Thus Valeria had shrunk one half of a pair of two-way mirrors to the size of a lentil, put it under concealment charms, then snuck it into Gryffindor Tower and permanently stuck it on the bridge of Harry's glasses. With the other half of the pair shrunk just enough to fit in her watch, she could see what Harry saw at any time, and either send help or raise the alarm as needed. Getting her own pair had been very expensive... but she'd already bought it for research and reverse-engineering purposes; no reason not to use it as a safety net for her least careful friend.

The investment was paying off already; Harry had walked into a veritable minefield of dangers almost entirely alien to his Gryffindor mindset; politics and media attention. Not that Valeria herself would have done much better; in his place she'd have punched that ugly, odious, utterly detestable reporter in the face then giggled at how her huge, totally unfashionable glasses ground into her face. It would have been very satisfying in a crude, visceral manner... but not very effective in preventing the Daily Prophet from printing even worse and more slanderous an article about the unexpected fourth champion.

Fortunately, her years skulking all over Hogwarts Castle, meddling in affairs of frightfully powerful people, and befriending two very socially-capable Slytherin girls had taught her subterfuge... from a certain point of view. The Potions lesson ended, and she calmly handed over her vial for marking, not really paying attention. The wand-weighing ceremony came to an end, and photographs were taken. Many, many photographs. That gave her enough time to get into a secluded spot and check her own magical reflection of the Marauder's Map. Moody was nowhere to be found... and Barty Crouch was in his office. Weird, interesting possibly, but not important to her current scheme except for Moody's absence itself. Dumbledore had left the wand weighing ceremony in the company of Garrick Ollivander, too.

With the coast temporarily clear, she reached out with her slowly improving sense of her darkest creations and towards a pair of what had once been bats. Hundreds of times smaller and less attention-grabbing than the human-based equivalent, disillusioned, and neither living nor dead, they flew out of the Forbidden Forest. They flew in circles for a few minutes, until the reflection of the Map showed Rita Skeeter and her photographer Bozo walking out of the castle and towards the front gates. Locating their prey, the bat inferi dived; in seconds, they had their targets in their claws. Valeria immediately triggered the self-destruct, a strong Fire-Making Charm that ensured her minions would not lead back to her even if captured by... interested parties. With the bat inferi destroyed, Rita Skeeter's anguished cries as her flunky's backpack and her own crocodile-skin bag went up in flames were not heard by Hogwarts' resident necromancer; imagination would have to suffice. On the other hand, all the photographs from the Wand Weighing ceremony, the wizarding camera they were taken in, Skeeter's newest libellous piece and her Quick-Quotes quill had been destroyed, and Dumbledore had banned the vile reporter from Hogwarts.

Valeria had a great imagination; the Slytherin witch's wicked smile persisted for days.


	22. Urulóki

**Here's the chapter you've all been expecting; enjoy! BTW, people have been asking what Ginny had to do with the Diary. Remember, Horcruxes can affect people near them, not just the owners, and the Diary was both powered up from its second-year shenanigans and desperate the first night Valeria got it out of its prison. It tried to invade the weakest nearby mind.**

 **Disclaimer: did the First Task use dragons of wildly different threat levels, unfairly leaving the outcome to luck of the draw? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The molten silver shone yellow-white under the flames, brighter than any metal had a right to be in the open air without burning up. It could be neither levitated nor enchanted in this form, and was too hot to be contained in any mundane material. The difficulty had been foreseen and accounted for; the crucible had been made out of many pairs of dragonhide gloves, cut and tied together into a shallow bowl. Crude, but effective. Confirming that no molten metal was dripping out of the improvised smelter, Valeria smiled and fed more emotion into the fire. In a way many would find counter-intuitive and downright absurd, making cursed fire could be relaxing. Yes, it fed on negative emotions, but the caster did not have to strive for more negativity while casting it. They could just burn up their existing anger and fear until they were little more than an echo in the back of their mind, leaving them calm and collected enough to consider their actions... their mistakes. She wasn't at that point yet; there was a lot of negative emotion still to fuel the fire.

In the days since their argument, Harry and Daphne had been avoiding her. They did not visit the library any more, no longer took breakfast in the Great Hall, even skived off class on occasion. Harry had deactivated the real Marauder's Map even, so the copies they'd made wouldn't work; Daphne was probably helping him unravel the copying charms too. Neville, Ron, and Tracey weren't keen on talking with her either, and refused to reveal where their two friends were hiding most of the time. She'd been tempted to use the hidden two-way mirror on Harry's glasses to spy on them, but something held her back every time. Maybe it was guilt at keeping things from her friends, despite it being for their own good. Or maybe it had been their discussion with both sets of Twins.

"Hey there, short stuff!" had been Fred's greeting as he jumped from behind a suit of armour.

"We heard something about a little disagreement you had with a certain boy." George had announced from right behind her. How had he even snuck up on her, she had no idea.

"A teensy little difference of opinion." Fred continued.

"Miniscule. Positively insignificant, really." George finished.

"You insisted Potter use the Unforgivables in the Tournament. Are you daft?" Those had been the Carrow Twins, popping out of thin air not ten feet from her and speaking in unison.

Valeria had been angry at being ambushed. She really had. Until they'd hit her with multiple Cheering Charms, then calmly proceeded to explain why suggesting the use of the Unforgivables had been a dumb idea. Fred and George had talked about friendship, and how Harry was their honorary brother, and what a mixture of their new experimental potions could do to anyone who hurt him. Flora and Hestia had shamelessly berated her for endangering their source of protection and an easy life in Slytherin with imprisonment, and their source of entertainment and manly heroics with expulsion. Then the Weasley Twins had laughed, the Carrow Twins had giggled, and all four of them had taken a sip from a vial of silvery potion and vanished before she could either ask questions or retaliate. And she really wanted to know what that potion had been.

The molten silver shone a near-blinding white now, like the Tungsten filament in a lit light bulb. She cut off the flames and prepared for the second phase of the forging process. A small, securely closed and shock-proofed box was opened, its fragile contents retrieved from within slowly and with care. The red-brown, inch-wide symbols floated under the careful application of a levitation charm, and one by one they were lowered into the molten metal. Sizzling sounds and the sharp tang of rusty iron and burned flesh filled the hidden, spatially-expanded lab.

Valeria had not found how Goblins alchemically infused their metal with enchantments; the Goblin Nation guarded that secret as closely as wizards did Wand Lore. But the silver taken from one thousand, three hundred and nine Goblin-forged Sickles already had the basic property of imbibing all substances that strengthened it. So an immensely complex alchemical process only master alchemists would have hope of replicating was reduced to a single question; how could she put the enchantments in a form the goblin silver would absorb as it did with many potions? Runes written in blood had immediately come to mind. The first time she'd tried with blood on parchment and then on stone, it had simply burned away. Her third attempt had been with fresh blood, held together with magic. That attempt and the next one with frozen runes had resulted in a right mess of exploding molten metal; she'd only avoided burns because she was working at a distance through levitation spells. This attempt was her fifth, and was using dried blood. That it appeared to be successful so far was ironic if one considered muggles used dried blood meal as fertilizer or animal feed.

Little forked shapes of _Elhaz_ runes, for protection, defense, support, luck, shielding, sanctuary, and connection. It was the primary intended effect, a protective enchantment.  
The lightning bolts of _Sowilo_ , for will, strength, victory, success, vitality, healing, and clarity. Everyone who'd known Harry knew Sowilo was his symbol, and not only due to his scar.  
P shapes for _Wunjo_ , for joy, perfection, shared goals, harmony, combination, peace, satisfaction. The core the other enchantments were built around, to bind them together and infuse the user with them.  
The X shapes of _Gebo_ , for gift, exchange of powers, relationships, unity, paths, connection, and balance. The object was both a gift and an apology, and adding that to its magic made it more meaningful.  
The left square bracket of _Perthro_ for luck, fate, evolution, solutions, secrets, mystery, and magic. The enchantment would be hidden, and both creator and user could use some utility spells upon it.

Seventy-seven copies of the runic sequence she added, one for each Galleon's worth of goblin silver in the final item. When she was done, black smoke had filled the lab and the liquid metal's glow had dulled to a gleaming yellow. It was time for the final shaping and the test of the previous step's success. She cast a levitation charm and a simple animation charm, and the glowing mass rose in the air and begun to spin, taking the shape of a crown...

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx  
**

"We don't have anything to say to each other, Campbell." Daphne said coolly. "Not before you apologise to Harry." It was the morning of the twenty-fourth of November and Valeria had finally managed to corner Daphne in the bathrooms of all places. She'd had to stay awake all night and use a disillusioned bat inferius to ensure the other girl would not vanish as she had every day for the past week, but she'd had no choice; Harry would be fighting for his life against a dragon in less than two hours.

"I can hardly apologise when he refuses to speak to me." She replied with a tired sigh, then set her new dress and toiletries aside. "Could you... tell him I'm sorry?"

"Perhaps." Green eyes narrowed threateningly. "Would it be the truth? Do you regret suggesting he use the very spells that left him and Neville orphans before the eyes of the entire Wizarding World?"

"I regret hurting him and..." Valeria fell silent as what her friend had said registered. "Wait, Neville? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Sometimes I forget you're a Muggleborn." Daphne pointed her wand at the water pipes and muttered _'Flagrate'_. The metal turned red-hot; she regulated the water flow and her magic until it started steaming but wasn't boiling. Then she undressed and entered the shower. Valeria followed her example, though she used a more difficult direct warming charm; better water temperature control that way. "The truth is, Muggleborns aren't disliked by so many wizards solely due to their muggle origins. It is your obstinate insistence on disregarding the history, traditions, and culture of the world that takes you in and teaches you how to wield the greatest power in the universe." The pureblood princess gestured at Valeria's general direction, and the shorter blonde squealed and jumped off from under the shower; the water had suddenly turned ice-cold.

"What the..." she glared at the taller girl. "Freezing Charm on the water? How immature is that?"

"Doing what is easy, not what is smart is immature. Always believing you know best is immature. Not considering what others think of you is immature." Daphne said as she continued her shower, not even turning to look at her. "If you want us to talk to you, do try to remember we're individuals with our own beliefs and morals we might not want to change for reasons you might not even know about."

"I did not suggest Dark Magic to change Harry, only to help save his life." For some reason, Daphne's cold, blunt words held more weight than any argument Valeria could think of, even that one. She got to her feet, shuddered in the cold breeze of late November, then braved the shower once more. Daphne did not make it freezing cold again. "I... didn't think the idea would hurt him so much, but in hindsight..."

Daphne snorted. The two girls towelled and dried themselves, then started the long and extremely complicated process of preparing to make a glamorous entrance to a formal social event. A few minutes into their preparations, Valeria took a heavy, unadorned ring of dull yellow-grey metal and gave it to her friend.

"It's for Harry," she answered Daphne's questioning stare. "It should offer some protection, against even a dragon... briefly."

"How typically... you." The other blonde actually laughed. Any other day Valeria would have cursed her, but with a dragon looming in Harry's imminent future... "You do realize how condescending this is, right? You care about others, want to help them, but you never just ask. No, the great Campbell must provide the solution."

"But the dragon..."

"How about this. I'll stop preaching. I'll give Harry the ring - because not getting him all the help he can get is dumb." The Scion of House Greengrass fixed her friend with a challenging stare. "But if Harry doesn't accept this _illegal_ help for the Task? You'll say nothing. And if he succeeds without it? You'll owe him one favour, no more expensive than this ring and lasting no more than three months."

The girls shook hands, both relieved they'd accomplished what they'd been aiming for when they arranged the meeting.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The Hogwarts Quidditch field was much changed from how it had been when the five friends had first seen it. There was no trace of the disastrous Death Eater attack during their third year. There was no sign of the traditional twelve wooden towers, each with a hundred spectator seats on its top either. The five-hundred-foot-long, a-hundred-and-eighty-foot-wide oval once occupied by the Quidditch pitch had been surrounded by a massive ring of seats that looked suspiciously like those used in the World Cup finals. The pitch itself had been replaced by a shallow bowl-shaped arena full of boulders that almost glowed with unseen protective enchantments. Unfortunately, as far as Valeria could tell, all those enchantments were meant to protect the spectators, not the Champions. With nearly forty thousand wizards present, more than two-thirds of them foreign, she couldn't really blame Dumbledore and the Ministry... but couldn't they have reduced the risks for Harry and the others just a little bit?

 _"And there comes the Catalonian Fireball!"_ Bagman's massively enhanced voice barely cut through the globe of silencing charms Valeria, Daphne, Tracey, Ron, and Neville had surrounded their seats with, the crowd's wild shouting and herd-mentality-enabled idiocy being hedged out nicely.

"So that's what the last dragon was!" Ron exclaimed as four dragon-handlers on brooms carried a huge blanket loaded with dragon eggs into the center of the arena via levitation. They were followed by a far larger group of nearly two dozen witches and wizards carrying the sleeping Catalonian Fireball on a levitated steel net. When both eggs and dragon were where they should be, the dragon-handlers vanished the net and blanket, retreated to the edges of the arena, aimed carefully, and sent dozens of Wideawake Spells at the soot-covered, dark-scaled beast. Then they quickly retreated behind the arena's invisible shields.

 _"Catalonian Fireballs are one of the rarest dragon species known for their ability to sustain fire-breathing for longer periods, produce smoke and soot in addition to fire, and their hunting skills in low visibility."_ Bagman's voice boomed once more, somehow managing to make the dragon look even more menacing... and the crowd even more wild and bloodthirsty. _"Let's see how the first Champion will fare against the beast. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome CEDRIC DIGGORY OF HOGWARTS!"_

That cry must have been loud enough to be heard clearly in the Champions' tents, for only moments later Cedric entered the arena at an obviously nervous trot. Thousands of Omnioculars were recording the event for posterity, most of the crowd waiting either for the handsome Hufflepuff's triumph, or for his violent death. That had always been the case since the days of the Colosseum; no middle ground for the public's villains or heroes. Valeria had no aversion to sport, but even with the new security measures and two dozen dragon handlers waiting to intervene, she worried it would end badly. She knew Cedric; had talked to him, exchanged jokes, actually liked him despite the gulf between their Houses. Seeing him facing a dragon...

"Hey! Where did Diggory go?" Ron exclaimed as the Hufflepuff Champion vanished without a trace. The dragon seemed to be thinking the same thing, because it was scanning the arena in short, rapid, agitated motions of its massive head, plums of smoke puffing from its nostrils.

"You didn't expect him to stay there like a sitting duck, did you Weasley?" Tracey snarked but without rancour. "Even a Hufflepuff knows not to take a torrent of dragon-fire in the face... unlike some Gryffindors I could mention."

"Oh, shut up!" was the redhead's 'clever' retort. Suddenly the dragon spat the aforementioned torrent of dragon-fire at an apparently empty area of the arena, taking a step back to better guard the nest.

"Diggory's Disillusionment and Secrecy Charms failed to fool the Catalonian Fireball, ladies and gentlemen! It would seem its senses beat them when Mr. Diggory got close enough!" One of the smaller rocks turned into a dog, which then charged barking towards the dragon. It was seemingly ignored until it got closer than fifty feet, then a quick burst of fire blasted it apart. "And now Mr. Diggory is displaying his mastery of Transfiguration, trying to draw the dragon's attention with decoys!"

"I wouldn't call that mastery. We're doing Inanimate to Animate transformations now and we're fourth years." Daphne disagreed with a scowl. "If this is all Diggory can do..."

"Whatever. His primary function is being a pretty face for us to look at anyway." Tracey said, smirking when her comment caused both Ron and Neville to blush furiously.

Another dog grew out of a rock, but kept its distance. Then another, and another, until there were over a dozen. Quantity had a quality all of its own, and with the dragon unwilling to abandon the nest to search for Cedric, maybe his tactic would bear fruit. When Hufflepuff's new herd of attack dogs had grown large enough, Cedric had them swarm the dragon. Against another dragon species it might have briefly bogged down the dragon, allowing him to get the golden egg, but the Catalonian Fireball simply unleashed a lasting river of fire, then swept its head left and right, incinerating the tiny creatures that had annoyed it. Even worse, it had another detrimental result...

"Mr. Diggory is in trouble!" Bagman gleefully shouted, to the crowd's delight. "See all this smoke produced by the Catalonian Fireball's efforts? Soon it will spread over the arena, outline Mr. Diggory's invisible form, and reveal him to the dragon." Not to mention make it potentially harder to breathe if Cedric didn't know the Bubblehead Charm. With a great effort of will, Valeria resisted the impulse to bite her nails with vengeance; far too Ronlike for her image.

About a minute later and as Cedric seemed to be running out of room to hide, the spreading smoke started to vanish in room-sized patches. Very rapidly, most of the arena was cleared of smoke, probably through the use of Vanishing Spells. Smoke having such a tiny mass, getting rid of it would be easy if you knew the right spell. Valeria didn't, but they'd all been taught the Smokescreen Spell by Quirrel back in their first year; if making smoke was that easy, getting rid of it should be even easier. Which begged the question on how Cedric would finally retrieve his egg.

This was answered moments later, when a full swarm of black-headed, white-bellied birds appeared from behind one of the larger rocks in the arena. Of course, _Avis!_ The bird-conjuring spell was one of the easiest animate Conjurations in existence, and could produce multiple birds at once. "Are those what I think they are?" she asked the resident animal expert.

"Oh yes." Tracey answered. "This ought to be good."

Half a minute later, an enlarged Magpie carried the golden egg away from a very angry but still occupied dragon, and delivered it to a beaming Cedric who'd just dropped his disillusionment. The crowd burst into cheers, especially the Hufflepuffs and their families, and to a lesser extent all British spectators. Most people seemed to have enjoyed Cedric's performance, and the judges rewarded him with fifty-nine points. The relatively low score out of a maximum of seventy was primarily due to Headmaster Karkarov's and Bagman's two sevens; everyone else had given him a nine.

Huh. Apparently Bagman didn't like Champions that weren't obvious and flashy. Who would have thunk it.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

BOOM!

The silver-haired girl pirouetted away from the charging Romanian Longhorn with inhuman grace and speed, letting the stocky, bull-horned, forty-foot lizard slam into the arena's shields. Then she turned around and ran towards her objective, her graceful leaps sending her thirty feet ahead at a time without any loss of balance. Unfortunately the Longhorn recovered rapidly, and charged at her again faster than even magic-improved acrobatics could propel her. This time Fleur Delacour leaped over the dragon to avoid being reduced to roadkill, and risked a few moments to point her wand at her ginormous opponent. The dragon seemed to stumble for a few moments, then turned around once more. Fleur wisely fled - not that even the speed afforded by a personal Featherweight charm and her admittedly amazing agility would her her far.

BOOM!

"Oh come on, call it off!" Ron shouted, forgetting that he couldn't be heard over the dome of silence. "She's been running around for five minutes, do you want to get her killed?!"

"What's up Ronald," Tracey asked with a malicious grin. "Not enjoying your blood sport any more?" The redhead's face and ears turned puce.

"I think Ron has a crush on that girl." Neville whispered to Valeria's ear all too seriously. "Should have seen him when she dropped by the Gryffindor table during the feast."

"Nine out of ten boys have a crush on Delacour - she's part Veela." Daphne said with a snort. "How about you, Nev? You sure you don't secretly dream about her?" Both boys shut up and hid their faces in shared embarrassment.

CRACK!

Fleur had jumped over a wagon-sized rock in her attempt to outdistance the tenaciously pursuing dragon; the Longhorn simply charged through it. It only cost him about a dozen feet of distance, not nearly enough time for Fleur to get the Golden Egg safely - and she wasn't willing to risk a run-by snatch with the humongous reptile hot on her heels. On the other hand...

BOOM!

The Longhorn slammed into the arena shield once again. For a fraction of a second, the weakened defensive enchantment flickered and the barrel-chested dragon's snout sank a foot into it. It tried to pull its head off and the shield started flickering and sparking strong enough for everyone in the crowd to see, and given a few seconds the dragon would have been free to pursue the annoying witch who had been leading him in circles. Unfortunately for the dragon, a few seconds is far too long if your opponent has a wand.

Perhaps Fleur could have run the two hundred yards to the nest and gotten the egg without problems given her lead. The French Champion decided not to risk it, and kept her wand pointed at the Longhorn even as the beast shook its head free and turned to face her. It didn't finish its slow turn though. It stumbled in mid-step, shambled drunkenly a couple dozen feet, then toppled. Valeria gaped as much as anyone else; taking out a dragon without using massively destructive magic usually took a dozen wizards working together for a beast that size. Fleur had managed it on her own; against a slower, less aggressive dragon she might even have managed it before the beast got close enough to be a danger.

Despite the Wizarding World's views on those with creature blood, Fleur Delacour got sixty-four points.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Victor Krum shot the Ukrainian Ironbelly in the eyes with great accuracy, sending what many Slytherins recognized as the Conjunctivitis Curse right on target. The Ukrainian Ironbelly snorted, obviously unimpressed. Being a dragon, its snort was a massive torrent of fire that pursued a rapidly fleeing Krum, smashed through the Bulgarian Champion's _Protego Totalum_ with barely any loss of power, and put his robes on fire. Had Krum being any closer than sixty feet, the widening cone of flames would have incinerated him on the spot. In a move greatly appreciated by most females in the audience, Krum conjured a shower of water to quench the flames, then discarded his destroyed outer garments. They were too burned to be anything other than an impediment anyway.

"Clever tactic, very clever tactic!" Bagman announced; Valeria had no idea if he referred to Krum or the dragon. "Unfortunately it was defeated by the protective scale Ukrainian Ironbellies have in their eyes; bad luck Mr. Krum!"

Krum scowled. The massive dragon lowered itself protectively over the nest, covering all eggs, golden or otherwise, with its body. The five minutes that followed were an exercise in futility as Krum hurled spell after spell against the dragon's hide, all of them splashing harmlessly as if against an immovable object. Gringotts used this particular species of dragon for security due to its sheer toughness and size; Krum wasn't going to accomplish anything continuing like that. Which was why he didn't.

"You filthy cheater! You're only supposed to use your wand!" To no-one's surprise, Ron was the first and only member of their group to protest as a large bag flew into the stadium. Keeping his distance from the fairly passive dragon, Krum withdrew several articles of clothing and a helmet, all obviously made of dragonhide, two long belts with potion-filled vials, and a long, thin, dragonhide bundle that looked suspiciously like a gun. He covered himself completely, strapped the potion belts in a large 'X' across his torso, then mounted the dragonhide bundle and climbed to the air. Bagman's commentary was lost behind Ron's angry shouts.

"HE CAN'T DO THAT! HE'S SUPPOSED TO ONLY USE A WAND!" The angry Gryffindor turned to the rest of them and asked, in a slightly less deafening roar. "TELL ME HE CAN'T DO THAT!"

"Unfortunately Ron, he can." Daphne said calmly. "Champions must enter the arena only with their wand, and nonmagical clothing; Harry asked Dumbledore about that specifically. Krum did that."

"NO HE DI-" Ron's voice cut off as Tracey silenced him.

"Yes, he did." Daphne went on as if nothing had happened. "He summoned that equipment bag after he entered the arena; that isn't against the rules."

"He pretty obviously cheated though." Neville said darkly. "He was ready to use a spell custom-made to cripple any other dragon, and had all those things ready in advance, and covering himself and his broom with dragonhide is meant to protect from dragonfire!"

"Of course." Tracey replied with a smirk, still keeping a now raging Ron silent. "On the other hand, all those things would have helped against any other threat, too; flight, armor, and potions are pretty handy in any situation. In fact, it's how Hit Wizards fight."

Krum was hovering over the Ironbelly now, pelting it with potions that hissed and melted fist-sized holes in its hide before being neutralized by dragonsblood. They were little more than pinpricks against the massive dragon, but still hurt and annoyed it.

"Speaking of Hit Wizards, anyone seen Lord Black and his... girlfriend?" Daphne asked with a hint of distaste. "I thought he'd have come to watch Harry."

"Can't see them anywhere." Valeria said, scanning the crowds with the Omnioculars. "Maybe they had Ministry business?"

"Doubtful." Daphne didn't explain why that was though. She kept searching the crowd, her scowl deepening.

At that moment, the Ukrainian Ironbelly had had enough. It unfolded its massive wings, and clumsily took to the air. Predictably, the youngest national Seeker in the world got his egg five seconds later.

For his obvious foreknowledge and preparation, Krum was given fifty-eight points.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"And here comes Mr. Potter, our youngest yet most famous Champion." Bagman announced far too loudly for Valeria's poor ears. "He's facing the Hungarian Horntail; one of the most aggressive and largest species of dragons, and the one with the most natural weapons; Serrated teeth! Scythe-like claws! Yard-long spikes covering much of its body! And a narrow but long cone of fire with a recharging time of only four seconds!" The crowd eating it up didn't make things easier. "To all that add its reaction speed and ability to fly faster than any known broomstick model, and the Boy Who Lived is in for his greatest challenge yet!"

"Do you think he'll be OK?" she asked at nobody in particular, then gave in to the impulse and started biting her nails. Everyone in their group but Daphne was doing it already.

Harry started running towards the center of the arena without casting any obvious magic. The crowd held their collective breaths, expecting a fierce and tremendous battle since the Boy-Who-Lived was apparently charging the nightmarish beast directly. Then, only thirty feet into his charge and still over two hundred from the Horntail, Harry vaulted over a boulder, then jumped into the air.

He did not get down; in fact, he kept climbing and climbing like a helium balloon. He probably weighed as much as one after applying a full-strength Featherweight Charm on himself. That was not all though; when he'd climbed to three hundred feet and out of the dragon's immediate reach, he stopped in mid-air, probably via a levitation charm. Then he conjured a small flock of birds with _Avis_ , and bound himself to them with _Incarcerous_ , then started flying around the stadium, apparently as a pre-emptive victory lap.

The whole stadium had fallen entirely silent, even Bagman forgetting to comment. Harry seemed to had accomplished his immediate goal because he stopped moving around once again, pointing his wand towards the ground. In the beginning, nothing seemed to happen. Then after about half a minute, the largest boulder in the arena became smaller and smaller. Thirty seconds after that it had seemingly disappeared entirely... unless one used the Omnioculars' maximum magnification to keep track of the walnut-sized pebble it had now become.

Harry flew down again, carried by his conjured pigeons. Fifty feet over the ground he stopped and used the Summoning Charm to bring the pebble to his hand. He then turned around, got within a hundred and fifty feet to the Hungarian Horntail, and cast a first-year and a second-year charm in quick succession. The Knockback Jinx threw the pebble towards the Horntail with the speed of a bludger; the Basic Counterspell, with Harry not trying to have his own spells resist it, ended every singe Shrinking Charm he'd previously cast on the boulder.

 **BOOM!**

The Hungarian Horntail was smashed against the arena's shield like a kicked chicken. Harry flew up to the nest and retrieved the golden egg. Then the silencing dome collapsed under the combined shouts of thirty thousand spectators.

Harry Potter finished the First Task in two minutes, sixteen seconds. He was awarded sixty-five points.


	23. Unity

**Disclaimer: Did Dumbledore arrange an actual protector for Harry after he was entered in the Tournament against his will instead of merely having general security? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me; it belongs to J K Rowling, and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

In many ways, the week after Harry's victory over the Hungarian Horntail was the best the Gryffindor Champion had seen in a long time. All the whispers about false champions and cheaters, the little bets on how quickly he'd drop out due to crippling injury or worse... those had disappeared as soon as he'd picked up the Golden Egg. Now everyone was congratulating him, patting him in the back, betting on how well he'd do in the next Task. All it had taken was risking his life in battle with one of the most dangerous beasts in the magical world for the spectators' amusement. Harry wanted to forget about it all, put his fellow students' disbelief, hostility, and malicious slander behind him as one huge misunderstanding... but he couldn't. Daphne had taught him more than a clumsy way to fly around and a few tricks of battle-magic to help him survive his dragon. She had explained to him the meaning of terms such as 'blood sport', 'public opinion', and 'bread and circuses'. Looking back at his first three years in the magical world, seeing the fame he never asked for under this new light... how could people be such total idiots?!

"Are you even paying attention, Harry?" Valeria asked, thin lips turning downwards into a severe frown. Harry wondered if she knew how much like a younger, blonde McGonagal that made her look. "You need to practice! We all do!"

"What's the point?" Ron lazily cast another Stunner, missing the target by several feet as it clumsily flew away. "Bagman said the next Task is secret, right? Harry has months to decipher the screaming egg thing since it's not about the Second Task."

"But..."

"It's Christmas, Val." Tracey said as she, Daphne, and Neville sent more stinging hexes at the floating target as it flew to their side of the room. "You're never going to convince Weasley to do extra work - he needs to sleep twenty three hours a day, remember?"

"Hey!" Ron protested, but it was half-hearted at best; the brunette Slytherin's remark wasn't far from the truth. So he changed tactics. "How come I don't see you practicing, huh? Bet you can't hit that thing once!" The short blonde rolled her eyes, turned around and pointed her wand over her shoulder. Harry saw her whispering under her breath, but the others didn't. Then she pointed her wand straight at the erratically swerving rock they'd spelled with a flight charm as a target and cast.

 _"Percutio! Percutio! Percutio! Percutio! Percutio! Percutio! Percutio! Percutio! Percutio! Percutio!"_

Every single Piercing Curse landed directly on target, despite its erratic movements, Valeria usually having a worse aim than Ron, and the target being _behind her back_. Harry was gobsmacked. Hell, everyone else was staring at their book-loving, exercise-avoiding friend, eyes wide as saucers. The infuriating girl smirked at them and took on a standard lecturing stance; that Harry could recognize it meant he was spending far too much of his time in the receiving end of lectures - or rather Valeria's dreaded, half-giant version of them.

"The shape and length of a wand leaves much to be desired as a weapon where accuracy is concerned, even more so for having to go through elaborate motions for a spell to be cast. And yet we have accounts of wizards with improbable aiming skills, or even rare cases that wands, like brooms, seem to move almost on their own accord to do their masters' bidding." She took out several dozen pages of notes and a leather-bound manual that was too new and a bit on the small side to belong among the worn, creased, ancient-looking giants populating the Hogwarts Library. Harry would have believed it was a muggle book if not for the title written across its dark blue spine with silver letters; _Spells of the Modern Era_.

"This discrepancy didn't sit well with me," Tracey snorted at that and Harry had to hold his breath to avoid laughing out loud; the day their muggleborn Slytherin friend accepted anything at face value would probably see the end of Wizarding Britain "...so I did some research. The only even remotely-related magic though was the Four-Point Spell, a fairly recently invented Charm that automatically points one's wand towards a cardinal direction - usually North." She shrugged. "Disappointing but not unexpected; if the magic I was searching for even existed, its users would keep it a secret due to the advantage it gave. So I did some research into Summoning Charms."

She didn't point her wand at anything in particular, but a moment later Ron's right shoe was pulled off its owner's foot with enough force to topple the tall boy, then came to her hand.

"Summoning doesn't require you point your wand at whatever you're summoning. It doesn't even require you know where your target is. It only needs a firm idea on what you want to summon, and your intent will guide your magic anyway." She held her wand loosely and spoke an incantation repeatedly under breath. Her wand moved on its own accord, dragging along her hand and pointing at Ron's, Daphne's, and Harry's faces in turn. "The part of the Four-Point spell that turns the wand towards a known direction paired with the portion of the Summoning Charm that directs your magic where you intend. Together, they make for a very useful spell."

"That's huge!" Neville blurted in an awed tone. "Perfect aim at whatever you need..."

"Not as world-changing as you think, Neville." Daphne interrupted, then turned to the other blonde. "Any specific reason you used the Piercing Curse instead of the Stunner?"

"Good guess." Valeria said, her smugness diminishing a bit. "Doing the right wand movements is a bit hard while holding the Directing Charm so I was limited to spells that didn't have any. Of course, once someone can cast without needing wand movements at all..."

"At that level aiming is more intent than action," Daphne said with a shrug. "If it wasn't, every wizard over eighty wouldn't be hitting the broad side of a barn and yet some of the greatest Duelists are at that age."

"Yeah, but the rest of us aren't century-old master Duelists." Harry interrupted before the girls could drag out their discussion into the tiniest and frankly unessential details. "Could you teach us the new spell, please?"

And they accused him of lacking common sense...

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"Everte Statum!"

The Knockback Jinx hit her in the back, slamming her painfully against the wooden door of the broom closet, the brass handle digging into her cheek. She tried to think of Professor Flitwick's lesson about Cheering Charms earlier that day and not about the bruise she could already feel forming... or about the trio of Stinging Hexes that followed. She plastered a mysterious smile on her lips and turned around to face her attackers; crying would only make things worse. She knew beyond doubt that what her attackers did was a symptom of a small mind and a shallow heart, a series of actions that would condemn them to mediocrity in the future. She felt sad about them, really; nobody should walk through live without an ounce of wisdom.

"What are you doing now, freak?" the taller of the three trolls demanded, foul spittle dripping off its mouth. Trolls could not be students of course, but she'd come to realize far too many students chose to be trolls instead. Or that was what she wanted to believe. The alternative was to consider that humans could and would behave like that, and that would simply not do. Besides, everything would turn out well, in the end.

"I don't think she can understand you," the shorter, wider troll said. "Understanding requires a capacity for reason, you know?" Not really. All it required was being willing to put yourself in another's place. Unfortunately for them, trolls were not known for their compassion. Like giants, they replaced wit with aggression, which served them not at all. She wondered if Daddy, like her, would be sad after there were no more giants left. Perhaps they would write an article about it.

"I'm bored," complained the thin, whiny troll. "Hex her again!"

Then again perhaps not. Far too many people feared what they did not attempt to understand; such an article would not be well received at all. But maybe she'd write it anyway. Perhaps the shock would wake some more people up, grant them a measure of wisdom. One could only hope - and in the meantime, thinking of the potential article distracted her mind from further Stinging Hexes.

"What the hell is going on here?" a powerful voice, full of anger, interrupted the trolls' misguided attempt at having fun. A dragon appeared around the corner, tall, wide, dark-haired, and sheathed in emerald, terrible in its fury and power. The trolls, perhaps foolishly, seemed to trust in the weight of numbers. She hoped that they, unlike the giants, would survive for a little bit longer.

"I'm disciplining a misbehaving student - what does it look like?" The lead troll lied. "I'm a prefect, see?"

"And yet it's authority who is responsible for the greatest evils," the dragon said, and she had to agree, at least in part. "Since when did Ravenclaw become a House of bullies?"

"Allow me to rephrase;" the lead troll spat back. "I'm a prefect, and you're not. Get lost, Sna-"  
 _  
Silencio Vulgi! Immobulous!_

"Once again, authority proves itself equal to stupidity." The dragon chuckled nastily then turned towards her. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to report them?"

"To what end?" she replied with a wince, massaging her chest. The lead troll had been mean as it had been stupid and she had to think of her dreams and hopes for the future to avoid tears once again. "They do not know what they are doing - not really. And sleep comes to all of us sooner or later."

"I see." The dragon fumed, its rage peaking as it pulled forth its claws and readied its fire. "Perhaps it is time they learned. It is the purpose of their House, after all."

"Do not hurt them on my account, please." She said, gathering her courage to confront the beast of darkness. It was very unpredictable; she did not want to be on the receiving end of its wrath, but she would not shy from her convictions either. "Violence should not be a solution where words would do."

"Wise, yet impractical." The dragon snorted. "Here's another quote for you; evil triumphs when good people do nothing." She crossed her arms and stared up at the dragon, showing her displeasure. Beneath that, though, the pain the trolls had dealt her in the past did not allow her to be as convincing as she would have been.

"Oh very well; words it is!" the dragon finally agreed, then called upon its fire.

 _Flagrante!_

Claws, fangs, and breath of fire wrote letters upon the trolls' foreheads that even they couldn't help but understand. For the first time in over four years she felt... satisfaction that things had gone well... then guilt for not being as good as she could be. She should have tried to stop the dragon... she should... Her eyes fell on the murderous stares of the three trolls, the promises of retribution, and most of the guilt vanished.

"You brought this on yourselves, you know," she told them solemnly.

"Yes, they did," the Dragon agreed. "Now come; let's take you to the hospital wing. The immobilization should fade by the time we're there."

"Bye!" Luna Lovegood waved over her shoulder. "Try not to annoy the bird and the doggie!" Then she followed the dragon into safety. 

**xxxx xxxx xxxx**

It was more than half an hour after the altercation that the doors of the broom closet burst open, unleashing two people a bit too large to comfortably fit inside.

"I'm going to kill you, Black!" the smaller, slimmer of them growled.

"Come on love! How should I know the Polyjuice would fade five minutes early and strand us where students could see us?" The taller, heavier figure shrugged. "You know what Dumbledore and Bones said about being seen. We were lucky that broom closet happened to be so close."

"That is the term you'd use, isn't it?" Lucky? Riiight! "Well, bad news for you 'doggie'; that was as lucky as you're likely to get until this assignment is over!"

"Please! As if you didn't enjoy the last thirty minutes." He gave her the smirk she'd come to know and dread. "We're supposed to be teenagers - act like one!"

"I am going to hex you to within an inch of your life - how's that for childish behaviour?" She didn't wait for an answer; she disillusioned herself and stalked away. With night finally falling and curfew in effect they were unlikely to stumble into any more students so even her imperfect concealment charm should be enough.

She had enjoyed the broom closet, however cramped it might have been. Trying to remain silent as her idiot partner's hands did their worst while she could not afford to complain or say 'no' though, was something Sirius Black would pay for dearly, Hestia Jones vowed.

No how to do it in a way that would not compromise their mission to protect Harry and hunt down the dark wizard who endangered him, while also allowing for repeat performances?


	24. Lesson Plans

**Disclaimer: Did Neville forget about 'Moody' using the Cruciatus Curse before him intentionally after being given a book and some praise despite that curse being responsible for destroying his life? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx  
**

"...and you should always remember the Viciousness Rule when it comes to transformation," Professor McGonagal said after they'd all finished their small revision of 3rd year Switching Spells. "Now, what would that rule be?" Several people raised their hands, among them Daphne, Draco Malfoy, Terry Boot, Sue Li, Padma Patil, and Valeria herself. The Transfiguration Mistress carefully noted everyone who'd raised their hand, those who had not but seemed to have an idea of what the rule was, those that were simply paying attention but tried not to present themselves as victims to be questioned and thus managed the exact opposite, and anyone brave enough or stupid enough to ignore the Professor's piercing stare. Only then did she prompt one of the advanced students to answer.

"The magnitude of the intended Transfiguration is inversely proportional to the intended viciousness, Professor," answered Sue Li, a Ravenclaw girl with wide brown eyes, very straight black hair, the tiniest hint of yellow in her pale skin, and a body even shorter than Valeria or Tracey. Valeria once again was struck by the utter absence of sneers and snide remarks from Malfoy and his group as the clearly Asian girl spoke up; that all the racial prejudice and division she'd seen among the over a dozen foreign countries she'd visited with her parents in the past was entirely absent from the Wizarding World made sense, despite how impossible it had first appeared. If someone could visit another country more easily than Hogwarts students could go to Hogsmeade, the entire wizarding world might as well be a cluster of neighbouring villages. Blood prejudice still persisting on the other hand... that made no sense at all.

"One point to Ravenclaw, miss Li," Professor McGonagal announced to the disappointment of most students in blue and bronze. "Five more points will be awarded to anyone who can explain what the principle actually means." Murmurs and whispers spread among the fourth-year Slytherins and Ravenclaws, but volunteers were slow to present themselves... and for a good reason. Valeria reviewed all the Transfiguration theory she'd memorized, but an explanation of what 'Viciousness' actually meant wasn't forthcoming. That was odd. Complexity, magnitude, concentration, wand power (or simply power, when a wand wasn't used), all were simple variables at least as far as understanding them was concerned. What was she missing?

"Mister Boot? Mister Malfoy?" No response. "Miss Parkinson perhaps?" Ironically, the rather vicious Slytherin girl had no more of a clue than Valeria herself. Professor McGonagal quizzed a few more students from both Houses, her tone becoming more impatient with each student that failed to reply. Then Padma Patil tentatively raised her hand, at almost the same time Daphne did.

"Yes, Miss Patil?"

"Viciousness refers to how harmful a Transfiguration will be to the target. Turning someone into a cat is difficult but doable for a NEWT-level student. Turning someone into a fish is a lot harder because the lack of water would kill them. The more harmful the change to a living being is, the harder it is to pull off, but also to reverse."

"Indeed." Professor McGonagal agreed. "Five points to Ravenclaw. And does anyone know why?"

"Because Transfiguration tends to stable completion, Professor." Daphne added. "It's impossible for any witch or wizard to accurately visualise any complex objects fully, let alone living beings. But the magic itself strives to complete our intent, filling in the blanks. When it comes to harmful changes though, there is no stable form and either the magic has to fill in a lot more blanks, or give results Transfiguration Magic was not intended for. You can't change a cat into a cat on fire or into a headless cat. Even partial changes of living beings that should have been lethal are viably sustained by the magic." From the Professor's satisfied expression, she was about to award points when Daphne continued. "This becomes especially important when someone uses Transfiguration on another with the intent to harm. It isn't impossible, but the more directly harmful the change itself, the harder it is. This is why most wizards use Curses in a duel, and it should also be noted that the reverse is true; Transfiguration is nearly impossible to use to get rid of harm. A one-armed man turned into a pig will result into a three-legged pig. A man with massive bleeding wounds will have proportionately just as great wounds when turned into a small animal. On the other hand, a small animal can be easier to carry, easier to heal, and requires smaller potion doses for the same effect."

"Ten points to Slytherin, miss Greengrass." Professor McGonagal finally said, rewarding all the extra work Daphne must have done on the subject. Valeria on the other hand just wondered who her friend wanted to heal...

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

In Professor Flitwick's class they'd already covered the Seize and Pull, Banishing, and Summoning Charms, so the dozens upon dozens of pillows they found occupying their desks that Wednesday evening came as a surprise.

"Gather round, gather round!" the excitable little Professor cried from atop a huge stack of books. "As some of you might know, we've already covered every spell in the official fourth year curriculum!"

That announcement was followed by whispers of incredulity from much of the joint Hufflepuff-Slytherin group; they'd only learned three new spells that year, spending two weeks' worth of lessons practicing each of them into perfection. What were they supposed to do the remaining five and a half months of classes? Professor Flitwick had to be joking, a Hufflepuff boy Valeria didn't know said, even as a serious-looking redhead she recognized as Susan Bones was insisting they shouldn't be disrespectful towards a Professor.

"No, I'm not joking, mister Smith!" The part-goblin replied in good humour. "I understand several stories about my failing sanity have been circulating for at least four decades now; I assure you they were totally exaggerated." The entire class laughed, wondering how ancient Flitwick must be. There was a rumour he'd been a student along with Albus Dumbledore, but nobody could confirm it; Valeria suspected record-keeping had not yet been invented back in the antediluvian era said events took place in.

"It is true however that you've mastered all the Charms in the curriculum to my satisfaction - and nearly a month early I must add." Professor Flitwick's beard twitched, a wide smile not quite hidden behind it. "Now we'll proceed with the first bit of advanced magic you'll be taught in Hogwarts." A flick of his wand made every single desk and chair pop like a burst soap bubble, the entire class quickly emptying of furniture save for a single desk and chair in one corner. Valeria suspected a strong Geminio Charm was used periodically by Flitwick himself to produce the seating, which had now been simply dispelled; far simpler and easier than maintaining dozens of real chairs and desks after all. Another flick of the Charms Master's wand had a pair of inch-wide objects flying out of a cabinet too fast to clearly see until they reached the two ends of the classroom. Then they grew and grew until two massive goalposts - the muggle football kind - took up the eastern and western walls. A third and final flick of Professor Flitwick's wand had half the pillows turning Slytherin green, the other half Hufflepuff yellow.

"Every wizard of any age can cast spells on a single target." Flitwick said as everyone was still staring at the radically changed classroom. "Casting spells on multiple targets at once is far more difficult however. Some spells are natural area effects, such as many fire, explosion, or protective magics. For all other spells though, the caster must intentionally modify the spell to affect more than one target." He made a sweeping motion with his hands, indicating the changed class. "As you saw though, it allows for quick and impressive results. Of course, not all spells are equally easy to modify; curses and charms intended for Dueling are nearly impossible to thus alter. All Transfigurations can become multi-target, with a moderate to great increase in difficulty. But the easiest spells to 'spread' are utility charms, and especially those who apply simple force."

Now the lesson and the fourth-year curriculum in general started to make sense. The only spells they'd practised this year had been the Seizing, Summoning, Banishing, and Holding Charms, plus some more intense applications of the Mending Charm. In fact, several students had already used those Charms on multiple targets, including Valeria and her friends; she hadn't even known that the Holding Charm had a single-target version.

"Now, the only difference between single-target casting and mass casting" Flitwick was saying "is the caster's intent and magical ability. Having only just perfected the single target versions, you are best equipped to attempt multiple targets." He pointed towards the two goals. "So let's play a game; Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. For the next hour, the only spells allowed are the Seizing, Summoning, and Banishing Charms, and only when applied to the coloured pillows. Physical contact between opponents is not allowed. Whichever House has the most pillows of their colour in the opposing goal post at the end of the lesson is the winner. I'll be refereeing; students breaking the rules will be pulled out of the game."

Naturally, chaos ensued.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The first thing both Daphne and Valeria had done with their chosen projects in Muggle Studies was to spend an entire lesson hitting their chosen Muggle inventions with repair and cleaning Charms; they'd look pretty stupid if they did all the other spellwork only to see it fail because the object it was applied to broke. The practical portions of the next few lessons had been spent applying protective and preservation enchantments on the model car and Colt .45 they'd chosen respectively. Here, Valeria had an advantage; she already had an object protected better than almost any wizard could manage, and had been studying it for over a year. Of course, there was no reason not to share; it wasn't as if they were partnered with Nott or anyone else of Malfoy's crowd.

"What do you think? Should I go with direct animation spells or a perpetual fuel supply?" Daphne asked as Valeria added Anti-summoning and Anti-theft Charms to her project; making a gun nigh indestructible was not a good idea if it could be turned against you.

"You still haven't decided?" Valeria had already spent several hours in the library to confirm that her enchantment choices didn't run afoul of some obscure Ministry law; the barrel's interior couldn't be magically lengthened due to the illegality of space expansion charms, thus she had to compensate by magically increasing its mass and adding levitation and stability charms to soak up recoil so when she replaced bullet propellant with Blasting Curses she wouldn't die from a sudden case of gun-to-the-face.

"I need to finish the repair and cooling enchantments first, no matter which version I go for." The taller blonde was using a resizing magnifying glass to inspect her model car's engine. "Animation will be simple but tedious. From what I've seen of the Hogwarts Express, I'll need to enchant each moving part individually, then make sure they work well together. If I go for perpetual fuel I'll only need to enchant the fuel tank with a Refilling Charm, but that'll be a bitch to pull off. It's already a sixth-year spell before trying to turn it into a permanent enchantment."

"Sixth year, fourth year; only difference is practice and motivation." Valeria shrugged, and applied another layer of counterspells to prevent magical disarming. "Harry learned the Patronus back in our third year, remember?"

"Yes, but I also seem to recall none of us managed that. In fact, you still can't cast the spell at all." Daphne answered her glower with a smirk.

"Yes, yes, Harry's an impressively powerful wizard when he can be bothered to put some effort into his magic." Personally, Valeria didn't believe lack of power was what prevented her from casting a Patronus. She'd performed other magical acts nearly as demanding as pushing back a hundred dementors in other fields of magic, and she still couldn't produce more than puffs of thin mist. "Speaking of effort, when do you think he's going to ask you to the Ball?"

"Sometime in late February," the other girl said glumly, visibly deflating when the subject is brought up. "At least that's the date Tracey's betting for. Brave Gryffindors my arse." She must have been very upset at Harry's lack of initiative, because her wand started spitting angry blue sparks that froze whatever they hit so rapidly it cracked. The two Slytherin witches were lucky they'd finished with the basic protective enchantments on their projects; the only loss was the desk, which they managed to repair under Professor Burbage's unamused glower.

"You know what? To hell with decision-making; I'm going to use both animation and perpetual fuel for redundancy." Daphne declared. "You know of any good books on applying the Refilling Charm and other advanced enchantments?"

"The what Charm?"

"The Refilling Charm, Val!" the taller girl huffed in exasperation. I mentioned it only five minutes ago!"

"Well excuse me for not wanting a magically enhanced gun to blow up in my face!" Valeria replied. "And I don't think I've heard of a Refilling Charm."

"But they're used in all... wizarding... parties..." Daphne's voice trailed off when she realized why her friend would not have heard of it. "Right, you're muggleborn; I tend to forget that sometimes. Well, the Refilling Charm is a spell that refills a container with whatever liquid was taken from it recently. Water, juice, butterbeer, wine; if it carried a non-magical liquid, the container is refilled, and unlike Transfigured substances, refilled wine doesn't taste any worse than the original. I think it's one of the simplest time-related Charms."

"Hmm... maybe we should ask Tracey. She has more experience with household charms and this Refilling Charm would probably fall in that category, right?" Especially if a wizard had assigned the category in the first place. No wonder the Wizarding World didn't handle technology well; one of the biggest problems in the early stages of the Industrial Revolution had been drunk workers - and the muggle world didn't have access to free booze for everyone. On the other hand, if Valeria were to categorize that spell, it would not go into household charms. 1,2,3-Trinitroxypropane was a liquid too...

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"You thought you were safe? You thought that the worst had passed? You thought you could slack off now that you've seen the worst one wizard could do to another?" the madman with the crazy magical eye demanded as his artificial and almost comically oversized electric-blue orb scanned the entire class. "Well, you were WRONG!"

Several students flinched at his sudden roar, Neville among them. They still remembered Mad-Eye's terrifying first lesson, and they hadn't been impressed at his easy use of the Unforgivables. Unlike their fellow students, they'd had friends and family on the receiving end of one of those terrible curses, and had to live with the consequences instead of laughing it off as a good show at the end of the lesson. Neville had to jump back as the desks, chairs, and students' book bags were pushed against the far wall at a few flicks of Moody's wand, and he gulped as he realized this would be another 'practical' lesson. What were they going to do this time - practice how to make Inferi?

"You have learned which Curses can't be blocked or countered. You've also been shown several other curses whose results can be just as horrible and permanent. You have either learned how quickly you'll die in a confrontation with a real dark wizard, or you're beginning to apply the one thing that will give you a single, infinitesimally small chance of survival - CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Neville snorted. Constant vigilance wasn't really Moody's motto. Rather, it was 'constant vigilance and hex everything within fifty feet'. With his fellow students still milling about uncertainly at the sudden appearance of another practical 'lesson' and Moody's eye still fixed on Harry as it usually was, Neville had a rare opportunity to try again.

 _Maleficarum Revelio!_

A spell to visualise the lingering impact of dark magic; had Valeria truly known what she'd created? Neville's parents had been Aurors, and his Gran's endless stories about them and the War were full of spies, infiltrators, and vile curses applied at the most innocuous of objects as lethal traps. Neville's, Harry's, and Ron's own experiences as far back as their first year and the Philosopher's Stone fiasco had positively drilled into Neville's skull the need of being vigilant long before Mad-Eye Moody had come around. And if the immortal, body-hopping spirit of that bastard Riddle wasn't enough, those responsible for his parents' permanent brain damage had escaped Azkaban last year... Valeria's spell was more powerful than any fourth-year magic, and Neville had only seen it cast once. But after many months of practice, he could pull it off well enough.

Which was why their Defense Professor's appearance under its effects utterly unnerved Neville. Like Harry's scar, the man's left forearm appeared twisted around a core of darkness that devoured all light within several inches. The effect was far less extensive than the one twisting Harry's appearance, but then, it was far from alone. His entire body was surrounded by a halo of sickly yellow, with patches of blood red and emerald green swirling within. After seeing the Unforgivables in action, it was not hard to guess what those colours meant. But the man's own body was far worse. A network of countless, hair-thin black lines criss-crossed every inch of Moody, from his left toe to his hair. They seemed to concentrate on his head most of all... and when Moody got close enough, Neville no longer saw lines but tiny tunnels... like those opened by the more aggressive magical worms he'd encountered in his Herbology projects. Something had literally gnawed upon Moody's body and mind, the effects only beginning to heal even after a long time of not being exposed to it - what sort of curse could possibly do that?

"What do you lads and lassies know about Hex Deflection?" their Professor growled demandingly. The students looked at each other in either confusion or reluctance, depending on how much of the answer they knew. Nobody volunteered to speak up, though. "Right. Mister Potter, front and center!" Harry stepped forth even as the rest of the class pulled back, his face wavering between determination to succeed, and anger at being picked out. "Now, Potter, I want you to hex me. Do your best and-"

Stupefy!

Apparently Harry had decided on an unexpected attack. Unfortunately, it didn't work; not that Neville had expected it to against someone like Moody. The Professor moved his wand in a sharp, straight jab, its tip flaring like a miniature shield charm had been cast on it, and the bright red bolt of the Stunner was reflected upon impact - straight back at Harry. Neville's best friend frantically jumped away, but didn't quite manage to dodge. Fortunately, the Shield Charm Valeria had drilled them into keeping up as often as they could deflected the spell, straight at Lavender. Unlike Harry, the bubbly blonde didn't react in time and didn't have any defenses; she collapsed between Parvati Patil and Fay Dunbar, her two friends trying to wake her up. Finally, Fay calms down enough to cast the Wideawake Spell, and Lavender wakes up.

"As you can see," Moody said, ignoring the collateral damage and Fay's and Parvati's glares "Hex Deflection is the art of blocking or even reflecting oncoming spells with the smallest, briefest burst of defensive magic you can manage, often focused around the tip of your wand. Its advantages include being faster than casting a defensive spell and being able to block multiple repeated attacks without having to hold up a shield against all of them at once. Naturally, it has its disadvantages. What are those, Mister Finnegan?"

"Err... that we need to be quick and accurate enough to hit incoming curses?"

"One point to Gryffindor for the partial answer." Moody snarled; Neville couldn't tell if he was pleased or angry. "Its real drawbacks are that you must be aware of the attack and ready to block it at any moment therefore you must exercise CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

The rest of the lesson passed with the students paired up, alternating between throwing Stinging Hexes and trying to block them. Moody seemed to be enjoying himself, as always. Half an hour later and with his face, torso, and hands thoroughly stung, Neville marched out of the classroom and straight to the dungeons. The Slytherins should be finishing their extra Potions lesson right about then, and Neville had a few things to discuss with another friend. 

**xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Due to the lessons lost to 'that Tournament nonsense' as their Head of House called it, Professor Snape had decided to make up the lost time with an extra lesson before Christmas. Most non-Slytherins had been overheard complaining; the Slytherins were just happy at having at least one lesson without the disruptive presence of the Lions messing up their efforts.

The Girding Potion was a fairly simple magical solution even for an average fourth-year student, despite Snape's attempts to convince them to the contrary. Yes, it contained Doxy Eggs which could be poisonous if incorrectly brewed, but they weren't lethal to wizards. Used in the potion, the magic reversed their effect, helping the drinker's body expel toxins at an accelerated rate. The Dragonfly Thoraxes slightly enhanced the drinker's bones and ligaments, while the Flying Seahorses did the same for muscles. Finally, the Fairy Wings had an effect on the drinker's skin and soft tissue similar to but less powerful than the Beautification Potion, in which they were also used. All in all, the Girding Potion didn't make the drinker into a superhuman, but it enhanced metabolism, pushing the drinker closer to their physical peak. For that reason, and its therapeutic uses by those witches and wizards who'd been sick or cursed for prolonged periods, it was often incorrectly called the "Nutrient Potion" by muggleborns.

Valeria went through the easy brewing process step-by-step, lamenting the fact that she wasn't allowed to keep any of the brewed potion for her own use. Not that she would; her Father had recently made a small fortune offering 'alternative medicine' to certain rich people through his not-so-legal connections. The first-year Boil Cure had sold as high as a thousand pounds per ounce in certain circles, as had a simple Scar Remover. Since making about gallon of those only took half an hour and half the money would be added to her allowance once the potions could be sold through Father's connections, she was understandably eager to see what else would sell. She'd suggested Skele-Gro, but Father had cautioned against it; regrowing bones overnight wasn't something they could pass off as obscure alternative medicine and while crimes as ugly as illegal organ trafficking could pass undetected, something like that would almost certainly raise red flags.

Sighing, she bottled a sample for marking, and left the rest of the potion where it was. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey could use it in the infirmary; all of Valeria's simpler brews were of professional quality after all. Then she exited the class and made for the upper floors and the statue of Phillip Von Hohenheim; she had some of her own projects to check. She hadn't walked more than a hundred feet before she walked into a tall, broad-shouldered boy descending one of the less frequented staircases. Since her Warning Charm had not revealed any danger and her shield had clashed against the boy's, there were only two potential culprits - and Ron Weasley did not come to the dungeons if he could avoid it.

"Merlin, Neville - try to be more careful!" she said, helping him up with a quick Levitation Charm. "You could have been injured!"

"Nah, I already am!" he replied with fake cheer and a groan. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the familiar red marks of the Stinging Hex on pretty much every inch of Neville's exposed skin. "How come my Shield Charm collapsed like that? I didn't see you cast any spells."

"No, but I'm trying to keep up a _Protego Totalum_ up all day, not just a basic _Protego_." Right on time, the protective bubble around her flickered and, unbalanced by the recent impact, faded away. "As you can see, it still needs a lot of work." Her scowl deepened as she saw Neville's face more clearly. "Why the Hell aren't you in the hospital wing? Your face looks as if someone used it for an ashtray! If Malfoy targeted you again..."

"It wasn't Malfoy, it was Moody." Neville growled back. "Or rather it was Seamus, Su Li, and Terry Boot. Moody paired me in turn with all three of them because I refused to cast Stinging Hexes at my classmates. What the hell's wrong with that man? Gran said he was a great Auror - taught my Mum and Dad even. Has he gone really mad? Hex Deflection could be learned against Colour-Change Charms just as easily!"

"Here, this should help." While her friend was having his very justifiable rant, Valeria had retrieved Boil Cure, Numbing Cream, and Burn Cream from her personal potion supplies. "Why didn't you use Moly juice to prevent the hexes?"

"Yes, because I expected a Professor to have us torture each other. I'm not as paranoid as you are, Val." He paused and thought about it. "Maybe I should be. 'Constant Vigilance' is the only thing that makes sense out of Moody's lessons. I don't understand why Dumbledore hired him!"

"Well, Dumbledore did hire Voldemort to teach us Defense back in first year." She smirked. "I don't know about you Gryffindors, but I did learn a lot from the so-called Dark Lord."

"Don't remind me. The whole business with the Stone was a nightmare." He sighed in relief as she gently applied the potion and creams on the stings. A few minutes later and after confirming nobody was in their part of the dungeons with a quick Homenum Revelio, she asked.

"Why are you here, Neville? You could have gone to Madam Pomfrey for this, spoke up against Moody even."

"As you said, Dumbledore isn't going to do anything about him; Gran says they are good friends." She snorted; the crazies did stick together. "Besides, have you checked out Moody with that dark-magic-revealing spell of yours?"

That was a surprise, forcing her to look at Neville under a new light. He'd learned a quite difficult spell after seeing it cast just once? She answered his question with a nod, deciding to wait and see where this would go.

"So you know," the tall Gryffindor spat angrily. "He doesn't act as an Auror, he enjoys using the Unforgivables far too much. And I've looked it up; no single person could give him dispensation to cast the Unforgivables on us, not without our consent. And being underage, we cannot give it." Anger burned under Neville's skin, Valeria could practically feel his magic responding. "And that bit of dark magic on his right forearm; I remember Pettigrew telling us about the Dark Mark - what if he's a Death Eater?"

"Moody, a Death Eater?" That didn't fit with what Valeria's research had revealed about the man; he'd captured over fifty dark witches and wizards. She'd thought the magic on his forearm was yet another lasting curse mark, like Harry's, not a Dark Mark. Then again, Harry's lightning bolt scar was neither a lightning bolt nor a scar now, was it?

"I'm telling you, Val; something's fishy is going on." The tall boy's face practically filled with determination, the anger not fading away, but rather being overshadowed by something stronger. "And if we can't go to Dumbledore, we have to do something ourselves."

Valeria thought about her special order, which would arrive any day now. Her, Daphne's, and Tracey's resolution to do something about the very obvious pervert that could be watching them at any time. A certain curse, and a plan that could not move head without resolving one last major issue.

"You know Neville... us girls have our own issues with Moody. And given this development... we have something you could help us with.


	25. Yule Ball Madness

****The 'have your cake and eat it' spell has already been invented; it's called the Duplication Charm, and works on a lot more than cakes. Cheating people by selling them copies of valuable artifacts, multiplying food, multiplying mundane equipment and goods, used as a security measure, even copying some of an item's weaker enchantments. The Daily Prophet only costs a Knut - dozens of times less than a bottle of butterbeer - because it's basically copied sheets, with the Protean Charm added on them so they change to mimic the original as news changes over the day; the equivalent of a muggle internet news site, except without the computer.  
****

 ** **Disclaimer: did the Yule Ball disrupt Christmas/Yule vacations for all students with said students only being informed a few days in advance? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely non-profit.****

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The week before the Yule Ball was one of the worst in Severus Snape's life. Never before had the little beasts infesting the chambers and corridors of Hogwarts been so dangerously wild and destructively excitable. In the last few lessons of the year, more cauldrons had melted and blown up than in the previous two months combined. Even worse, he had been 'advised' against handing out more detentions by the Headmaster himself, on account of not spoiling the foul little monsters' holiday spirit. If he had to suffer one more sabotage attempt by Minerva's pet terrors (also known as the Weasley Twins) he'd start hexing misbehaving dunderheads left, right, and center. He'd yet to find out exactly how they'd managed to sabotage an entire classroom's worth of cauldrons; he suspected they'd altered their own brew to emit an odourless aerozolised catalyst that when it came in contact with every other potion had turned them into acid. Unfortunately, he couldn't refuse them entry to his class; they'd actually managed an Outstanding Potions OWL and now he'd have to deal with them for another two years. Holiday spirit Merlin's arse.

At the moment however, the chair across his desk was occupied by another major headache, this one far closer to home. Sometimes, Severus hated his job. The rest of the time he hated it even more.

"Miss Campbell, you can't return home for Christmas" he explained, not for the first time. "Due to the Yule Ball there won't be a Hogwarts Express trip scheduled during the holidays."

"Oh? The Headmaster decided to remake the castle into a prison then?" the insolent brat challenged as she lounged rather improperly in the chair he'd conjured for her. At least she hadn't attempted to rest her feet on his desk - she could probably sense the lethal outcome at such a huge and obvious show of disrespect against him. "What crimes are we being charged with? Violation of experimental Charms regulations? Illegal Potions trafficking? Use of the Unforgivables? Necromancy?"

"Don't be absurd." He had to pause for a moment and shore up his Occlumency against the presence of infuriating little monsters too smart for their own good; his usual precautions only functioned against dunderheads. "You aren't prisoners, no matter how much some of you undoubtedly deserve it. It has just been decided that students should spend the holidays in Hogwarts this year due to the presence of foreign dignitaries."

"In other words, the Ministry is showing off for the foreigners, we're part of the attraction, arranging for Floo access would take a few sickles and some minutes of their oh-so-precious time, and nobody could be bothered to mention this earlier so those of us who'd made other arrangements would know to cancel them."

"Get out!" Severus uttered through gritted teeth, controlling himself enough not to strangle the girl with great difficulty.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

 _Cedric Diggory: Looks 9, Smarts 7, Power 8, Character 8, Contacts 4, Wealth 5  
Draco Malfoy: Looks 8, Smarts 4, Power 5, Character 4, Contacts 8, Wealth 9  
Zacharias Smith: Looks 7, Smarts 5, Power 4, Character 3, Contacts 3, Wealth 9  
Ron Weasley: Looks 5, Smarts 4, Power 5, Character 0, Contacts 6, Wealth 2_

Looking at the Patil-Brown Intelligence Review was a fairly amusing way to kill time while waiting for the right moment to execute certain plans. Snape's confirmation of the blanket ban of holidays with family for the year was a minor setback as far as some of Valeria's plans were concerned, but also yet another reason to be angry at the Ministry's heavy-handed interference in Hogwarts. She was rather surprised at how accurate the copy of the 'Review' Tracey had obtained really was; almost as much as she was confused by its bluntness and wide circulation among the female half of the castle's population. Rumours and gossip were supposed to be insubstantial, inaccurate, and useless after all - not an obviously well-researched table of useful information.

For the first time in her life (as far as she'd admit to herself), Valeria wondered how she'd measure up against the other girls in her year. Seeing Daphne prepare and rehearse for the Yule Ball had made it abundantly clear how far behind Valeria was when it came to things like dressing up, make-up, presence, and appearance. It was partially her own fault - lack of exercise, long hours reading and experimenting, and a somewhat unhealthy diet did nobody any favours - but her lack of height and physical maturity didn't help. If pressed, she would admit to considerable envy towards a certain pureblood princess, though not enough to put up with Ronald Weasley's fawning attention after he finally noticed Daphne was actually a girl. Unfortunately for her friend, the intended target of all of Daphne's preparations seemed to be as oblivious as always. Maybe she ought to-

"This is not a Beautification Potion!" an exceptionally good-looking girl with long, flowing, midnight-black hair, large, almond-shaped eyes gleaming like polished obsidian, unblemished porcelain skin, and an athletic but still curvy body said as she stalked through the Slytherin common room and towards the fire-side armchair Valeria was lounging on.

"Oh?" Valeria said as she eyed the newcomer critically. "Isn't your appearance vastly improved then? Because from where I'm standing..."

"Casual deflection and snide remarks won't work on me, Campbell," The girl said with a sneer that marred the near-perfection of her face. "I'm not Bulstrode; I actually know something about potions."

"That's odd. I could have sworn Millicent recognized the differences in the potion before buying it; she even asked me about them." She shrugged in the calm manner she knew would annoy the other girl the most. "But far be it from me to question the prowess of the great Pansy Parkinson."

 _"Furnunculus!"_

A wave of her hand sent Pansy's Pimple Jinx careening towards the fireplace. After over three years of repeated castings she hardly needed a wand for the basic Shield Charm, and letting her ongoing Protego Totalum reflect it back at Pansy's face would have simply been bad form. The barest flick of her wand and a silent Summoning Charm saw a small bottle full of rainbow-hued liquid bubbling multicoloured sparks fly out of the other girl's robes and into her outstretched hand.

"Hey, I paid you five galleons for that!" the Beautified Parkinson whined, but didn't launch another jinx... and neither did Lillian Moon or Emma Vane, two girls Pansy usually hanged out with. Surprising, though not unwelcome.

"Yes, and you are obviously unsatisfied by the outcome." She frowned at the other girl, checking her improved appearance though suspecting that wasn't the problem. "You're actually the first to claim it didn't work."

"You... AARGH!" Throwing her hands up and stomping her foot for good measure, Parkinson had a very obvious - and possibly fake - little meltdown before calming down enough to speak once more. "Beautification Potions are supposed to make the user irresistible, you idiot. I should have had an aura of charisma and grace that made everything I said whatever others wanted to hear. Obviously, your cut-rate brew failed dismally."

"Intentionally so." Valeria admitted, leaving the other girl who expected her to deny it spluttering in search for a comeback. She rose off the quite comfy armchair, waved a hand at the fireplace to snuff out the fire, and turned around to face the disgruntled customer fully. "Mind-affecting potions are against the rules of Hogwarts and the Ministry's laws when used without consent of the victim. I could no more brew and sell full Beautification Potion than I could Veritaserum." Her very lucrative arrangement with Mister Borgin in Knockturn Alley notwithstanding. "So I limited the potion to only its physical effects - something you would have noticed if only you'd paid attention to my selling pitch."

"I should have known five galleons a bottle was too good a price." Pansy growled. In her original appearance her snarl would have looked ugly; now it was merely cute. "You'll pay for the humiliation, one of these days."

"I could brew you a full strength batch, for a price." Valeria suggested. It would only take a few minutes; the only alteration she'd made to the recipe had been to reduce the lock of Unicorn hair to a single strand. Such a reduction to the most potent ingredient and the only one from a magical being with an aura of awe, grace, and beauty had diminished the more supernatural aspects of the potion. It had also reduced its ingredient cost by a factor of a hundred; at over a Galleon a hair even when procured at cost, Unicorn hair was rather expensive. "Just don't come whining back to me if Ronald Weasley or Cormac McLaggen start stalking you though; full Beautification potion is very non-discriminatory and not subtle at all."

"Pass." Pansy wisely said after thinking it over only for a moment. "Can I have my potion back? There are some Beauxbatons bitches poaching Hogwarts boys that need to be knocked down a peg or three."

"Sure!" she agreed with a smirk that made Pansy take a step back. "If you tell me which boy you tried to snare."

"What? No!" she shouted, drawing the attention of several other Slytherins who'd managed to miss the whole drama until then. "Give me my potion - I paid for it!"

"Only if you confess." Valeria's smirk turned downright nasty. "Think of it as you showing some humility and remorse for a change - it will do you some good."  
 _  
"Accio Potion!"_

"Nope!" Valeria taunted as the bottle of multicoloured liquid did not move at all. "My determination to hold on to this and listen to your confession far exceeds your desire to have it; summoning magic is not going to work."

"You're such a bitch, Campbell." Valeria shrugged and said nothing; Pansy had that right. "Fine! It was Diggory, all right? Now give me the damn potion!"

"Here." The potion flew back to its previous holder as Valeria willed her Summoning Charm to reverse itself. At least, that's how she saw it conceptually; it actually was a different act of magic since most summoning spells did not last after bringing the intended object to the caster. She'd have to ask Professor Flitwick for an in-depth explanation, but for now it working far more easily than banishing was good enough. "Pleasure doing business with you, Parkinson."

The no longer pug-faced girl huffed in annoyance and stalked away. Counting the latest batch of brewing, Valeria had sold two hundred and seven bottles of Beautification Potions of varying strength to girls from all Houses, a hundred and sixty-two doses of Ageing Potion to both boys and girls that wanted to show how mature they were, and forty-one mixtures of Thickening Solution and Swelling Solution in cream form, mostly to girls desperate to be more... well-endowed for a few hours. All in all, not a bad week for business.

Now that her financial assets were sufficiently improved to fuel Phase Two of her plan, she had some other tasks to accomplish for the big day...

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Walking through Gryffindor and Ravenclaw country always made Slytherins feel decidedly unwelcome. Contrary to popular opinion, the House of Serpents had a much better relationship with the Badgers than with the Ravens, primarily due to both Houses being based in the dungeons and Hufflepuffs being a rather friendly bunch, no matter who you were; most Ravenclaws deserved their reputation of isolationist bookworms. Naturally, the less said about the Snakes' relationship with the Lions the better; a problem Valeria was beginning to suspect could be blamed fully on the past actions of a certain Grand Sorcerer and Dark Lord.

As an openly muggleborn friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, Valeria enjoyed a somewhat less hostile response by the Lions, though she always had to watch out for the Twin Terrors. Whatever else they may be, Fred and George Weasley were brilliant wizards and prolific inventors. Their latest discovery, a potion that could briefly turn one into various animal shapes without the difficulty of Human Transfiguration or the drawbacks of other existing potions, deserved a place among other modern advancements in the field. That it was only one product of many, and with them just having passed their OWLs, just showed how great they might become in the future... if they didn't blow themselves up in some poorly planned experiment.

Making her third round through the seventh-floor corridor and with her quarry nowhere in sight, she grumbled in frustration. This would have been far faster if Harry had not dispelled the copying charms on the original Marauder's Map that transferred all it showed to various copies, or if she'd dared to use her Disillusioned bat inferi as scouts with Moody's wall-penetrating, illusion-negating magical eye scanning the castle. Stupid one hundred and forty-seven staircases linking two hundred and sixteen main corridors and who knew how many secret passages. Stupid Escheresque castle of holding being bigger on the inside than the outside. She was still cursing Rowena Ravenclaw's needlessly complicated architecture when she bumped into a Gryffindor boy almost as slim as herself... but without the Feather-weight Charm that made climbing all those aforementioned staircases manageable. Naturally, she bounced off the temporarily much greater and magically shielded mass and slid at least twenty feet back. That her ever-present magical shield hadn't stopped his approach meant he could be only one of two people in the castle.

"Hi Harry," she said between groans as she laboriously climbed to an upright position. Perhaps she should re-evaluate her risk assessment; Harry's shield had not found her harmless at all, which said interesting things about the Gryffindor boy's subconscious. "Fancy meeting you here. I've only been looking for you for... lemme check... yep, two and a half hours."

"Sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean to bounce you... I'm still getting the hang of this always-on Shield Charm thing." He helped her up like a gentleman, though she noted he used his hands rather than his wand. Of all her friends, Harry was the least comfortable with magic, though it had to be a subconscious aversion. He certainly was enthusiastic enough whenever they tried a new scheme. "I've been looking for you too, you know." Suddenly his jaw seemed to lock up, his frowning face, mild blush, and downcast eyes obvious signs of embarrassment. Alarm bells went off in Valeria's mind and she readied her wand. "Say Val... would you... do me a favour? Would you -"

A sharp jab of her wand and a harsh utterance of _"Calco!_ " had the most powerful holding charm she knew slamming against Harry's shield. Her greater experience and the advantage of surprise won over Harry's talent in defensive magic and potential slight edge in willpower; his shield cracked like glass and he was pressed against the wall as if by the hand of a giant. He was, of course, incapable of speaking another word.

"Hold it right there, Potter!" she growled threateningly. "If you were about to ask me to the ball, I'll disarm you, shove the magnitude of your error through your thick skull with _Deprimo_ \- that's the major Tunnelling Charm that can drill through hills and bring down major buildings by the way - then stun you and hand you over to Daphne." The Gryffindor idiot's eyes widened and he tried to shake his head but the Crushing Hand Charm didn't let him. She glared at him some more for good measure then flicked her wrist, the invisible, hand-shaped force following her movements exactly and depositing the boy in the center of the corridor. If his landing happened to be a bit less than perfectly gentle... well, he'd suffered much worse in Quidditch... and he totally deserved it.

"I actually wanted... to ask you... about Daphne." Potter said as he gulped great lungfuls of air and tried to find his balance. She took pity on him and fired a Stability Charm followed by the Wideawake Spell; the combination restored him to his previous condition... mostly. "Thanks. I... didn't want to ask you to the Ball. Not that there's something wrong with you or anything... I'm sure you're a perfectly nice girl and everything... oh gods, I'm totally messing this up, aren't I?"

"Stop babbling and spit it out, Harry." She commanded, barely holding back a laugh as he blushed again. So much for Gryffindor bravery.

"Could... couldyoutellmehowtobestaskDaphnetotheball?" He blushed a glorious crimson and she did laugh.

"Let me get this straight." She asked with a wide smile. "You're asking a girl who you don't know whether she is interested in you advice on how to best ask another, better-looking girl to the Yule Ball?"

"Err... I guess?"

"You're totally hopeless." Valeria giggled then, for the first time in several months. "For future reference, never tell or admit to a girl that another girl is better-looking, directly or indirectly. It's a good way to get cursed."

"Err... didn't you already curse me though?"

"Funny boy." Valeria idly flicked her wand; Harry nervously looked for the closest escape route. At least he could be taught. "Now, as for your 'little problem'... just freaking ask her, Harry! Do you know how many offers Daphne turned down since the Ball was announced? Waiting for you to ask had her so frustrated she used the last sixth-year who asked for target practice."

"She has?" He asked, his expression somehow conveying both incredulity and hope. "This isn't one of your bad jokes, is it?"

"If you're not running towards the dungeons by the count of three I'm hexing you again," she shot back drily. "One... two..." Harry Potter, slayer of Basilisks and vanquisher of Dark Lords, bolted. "The password is 'Ashwinder'!" she shouted after him just as he disappeared down the nearest staircase. Giving the password to the Slytherin Common Room to outsiders was generally not allowed, but as it would change later that day she didn't see it as much of an issue.

She wondered whether he'd realise that any Gryffindor (but especially the Boy-Who-Lived) asking a pureblood heiress out in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room would cause quite a response before or after he actually did it.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

She finally found her second quarry in the library, amid a mixed Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff study group of upperclassmen. Of course! His kind were hard-working and dependable; he'd never leave any assignment till later, especially one so important.

"Cedric, can I have a word?" she asked in a controlled tone so as not to wake up the Hogwarts library's dread guardian.

"Oh look, a snake!" a tall, athletic Ravenclaw girl with long, straight black hair, large almond-shaped eyes, porcelain skin with the barest hint of yellow, and curvy figure remarked snidely. Why did every other girl in or near her year had to have a better figure? At least this one had thin, white, slowly-healing scars on her forehead outlining still-readable letters if one looked hard enough. They wrote one word only, and it was BULLY. "What do you want here? Need someone to do your homework for you?"

"I fail to see how's that your business, miss Chang," she said calmly and politely; the library was not a good place to cut loose and blow large holes into the structure of the castle... Come to think of it, she'd yet to find a place that was, no matter how deserving some targets might be. "Or that of any bully..." she finished and turned all of her attention to the older Hufflepuff Prefect, ignoring the Chinese girl's angry retorts. Cedric's face darkened, his now sharp stare focused on her, grey eyes cold as flint. What? She thought she had at least a friendly relationship with him if their previous encounters were any indication. What was different now?

Despite his obvious reluctance, the too-handsome Hufflepuff boy followed her in a less crowded side corridor of the library and shot her an annoyed frown. Valeria quickly re-evaluated her previous plan even as she scrambled for the explanation that was eluding her. Why the sudden hostility?

"What do you want miss Campbell?" Cedric said politely, despite his apparent (and inexplicable) animosity. "My patience for Slytherins is less than it used to be."

"But why?" she blurted out, unable to make any sense of his sudden personality shift. "I mean, I can't say we are good friends but we aren't enemies either."

"That was before a Slytherin ambushed and mutilated one of my friends." Cedric replied, though his coldness had faded away. "I know, not your fault. Shouldn't have taken it out on you..."

"Are you talking about Cho Chang?" Valeria asked more sharply than she intended, and Cedric's eyebrows all but disappeared under that cute little brown fringe that partially covered his forehead.

"Yes... I am." The older boy stared firmly at her for several moments, measuring her with his gaze. "You know what happened." he said. It wasn't a question.

"I do." The Slytherin witch paused, trying to frame her reply correctly so as to not mess things up more than she already had. "Do you know of a student named Luna Lovegood?"

"Third year, blonde, sweet but distant, a bit weird, her home is close to the Weasleys?" Cedric asked, nodding along. "Of course; we grew up in the same village. What does she have to do with this?"

"She has been bullied, repeatedly, over the past three years." She directed a meaningful stare in the direction of the Ravenclaw girls trying to listen in on their conversation. Fat chance; she'd cast silencing charms in this corridor before even approaching Cedric. "It was turning quite nasty... and then someone did something about it."

"Preposterous!" Cedric immediately denied. "There have been no complains about bullying from any Ravenclaw. I should know; I'm the Prefect Prefects from all Houses are friendly with."

"No complains doesn't mean no bullying." Valeria said stubbornly. If the truth would ruin her plan now... well, so be it. "That's especially true if a Prefect is the bully. Say, like miss Edgecombe."

"Even if true, that doesn't give anyone permission to mutilate other students." Cedric insisted, then sighed, rubbed his eyes and brow to stave off a headache and glanced at Chang and Edgecombe out of the corner of his eyes. "Is there... any proof that this bullying happened? That any girl... other than miss Edgecombe... was responsible? Or is the whole thing just a Slytherin rumour?"

"I personally saw Marietta Edgecombe, Cho Chang, and Lisa Turpin hurt Luna Lovegood through repeated application of Stinging Hexes." Valeria hissed back almost angrily. Why was Cedric so reluctant to believe her? He was a Hufflepuff; he had no reasons to trust any Ravenclaw over her. "I will swear it under Veritaserum or binding contract, though I doubt it will come to that. Luna does not intend to tell anyone about the bullying, even though it has been going on for years and included stealing of her personal effects and school supplies; she admitted as much to her rescuer."

"Her... rescuer." Cedric mused, then fixed her with another penetrating grey stare. "You know who that was, don't you?"

"Yes, and I'm not telling." She emphatically retorted. "For one thing, I saw the whole encounter under concealment charms so nobody knew I was there. For another... whoever taught those bitches that attacking a defenceless girl that had done nothing to them carries a price should be given a medal, not a punishment... no matter what the school rules say." Or how self-serving that proclamation might be. Then again, she didn't intend to reveal herself to claim that medal either.

"I see..." The tall, burly, too-handsome Hufflepuff Champion nodded and turned back towards the study group. "Could you wait for a moment? I need to get my bag and books."

"Sure." Valeria only took a few steps to get out of the dark side-corridor to wait for Cedric. She didn't do it to get out of her previously cast silence bubble. She certainly didn't do it to better spy on what happened between Cedric and those bitches.

...but Cedric, why do you have to leave? We still need to finish that assignment...

The whiny bitch was Edgecombe. If becoming a Prefect meant being a little sycophant like her, Valeria wasn't sure she wanted to be one.

...what did Campbell want? Snakes always have an ulterior motive...

And that was Chang. At least she was smart enough for Ravenclaw... And a good student in both academics and Quidditch... And very good-looking... Better not think about it; there were still rare books in the vicinity. Fortunately, Cedric came back then, his bag swung over one shoulder easily enough despite the number of large tomes it was filled with. It didn't look like he was using a Featherlight Charm either. And Edgecombe and company were staring daggers at her; that was probably a good thing.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Cedric said with a smile, making his entire face light up and Valeria's cheeks redden in embarrassment. That kind of good looks ought to be prohibited in boys. Well, at least in any boys she had to interact with; only girls were allowed to have such an effect on the opposite gender. "Say, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Valeria's blush deepened, and for a split second she understood Harry's issues with Daphne. Only for that split second though; she then gathered all her Slytherin determination and willingness to get what she wanted at any means necessary, trampled several centuries of tradition and forged ahead;

"Cedric... would you go with me to the Yule Ball?"


	26. Hidden Tasks

**Valeria is far from the only student to sell her creations in Hogwarts; in canon we see anything from love potions, to pets, to protective amulets, to alcohol, to more iffy services getting sold. At least Valeria is being a good girl and not selling any mind-controlling potions, right? That the normal beautification potion would have had less of a profit margin for her is totally coincidental.**

 **Disclaimer: were the morality and legality of getting a date via love potions, mind magic, or Veela aura ever contested in canon? If not, I do not own Harry Potter; he belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

VORP!

"You know sis, when you said you'd be arriving for Christmas Eve, I didn't expect you to use the goblin express," the tall, dark-haired teenage boy said with a teasing smirk as he ruffled his much shorter sister's hair fondly. He wasn't at all surprised at a rather short, fourteen year old blonde girl in green and silver robes and her even shorter, brown-skinned, pointy-eared, grey-suited companion appearing unannounced in his room that morning.

"Dobby is no goblin, Valley's less crazy brother, sir!" a certain House Elf for hire complained, putting enough indignation in the words that his enormous, bulbous eyes rolled and his crisp suit seemed to vibrate menacingly. "Dobby is a House Elf!"

"Really?" The young man frowned. "I expected someone who can teleport through Hogwarts' dimensional lock, do magic with the flick of a finger and hear his name from the other side of the country to be taller... and more Elrond-like."

"Sure you were, Claude." Valeria withdrew a rolled-up tent from within her magically expanded purse and started setting it up without magic... or much success either. "You're totally not traumatized by the ignominious death your Galandriel fantasies just suffered. Now if you're done insulting one of the most awesome guys in Britain, you could give me a hand."

"Huh." Claude frowned at his sister some more, tilted his head, then turned to Dobby. "Is it just me or is my sister a little bit more caustic and blunt than she should be?"

"Dobby is not supposed to say sir, but miss Valley is being angry because -"

"Finish that sentence, Dobby, and I'll volunteer you for Hagrid's magical hybrid program," the Slytherin witch threatened, glaring at them from the entrance of the haphazardly set up tent. "Now get in, you two. I have two dozen shops to visit, a dress robe to enchant, five potions that need some final preparations before they're ready, and a kidnapping attempt to plan. That's in addition to checking the house for damage, that the fridge has more than just beer and pizzas, and that all of Father's businesses are going well while our parents are off gallivanting in the US - again."

"Why do you have to check on everything?" Claude asked with a tone of repeating a very old argument. "I'm how many years older than you?" Valeria did not bother giving her usual answer; she had far too much to do and however smart her brother might be, he could be as lazy as Ronald Weasley if the mood struck him - which usually did when their parents were away. Boys!

"Don't worry Valley's less crazy brother, sir!" Dobby whispered to him conspiratorially. "Miss Valley is always angry under pressure. And threats or no, she won't be sending Dobby or her less crazy brother to big hairy guy's hybrid program, oh no." The elf's voice lowered even more, as if divulging the secrets to life, universe, and everything, and being very proud for being trusted to know them. "Miss Valley be saving Dobby for long long time, and when Dobby be no more, he be made into the first ever House Elf inferius! Not even the Black elves be so honoured to be useful after death!"

Claude understood then why his sister thought the little guy was awesome; the "elf" was actually totally crazy. Given that Valeria had just removed what was essentially a giant Portable Hole from within her Purse of Holding without batting an eye, the two of them were a matched pair. Oh well, a certain lack of self-preservation did run in the family; Mother dealt with politicians, Father dealt with criminals, Claude was an avid role-player and would eventually become a lawyer and deal with both; little Val becoming a witch was not much of a stretch.

Normal was boring anyway.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Dinner with just her, Claude, and Dobby had been a bit weird, but comfortable. They'd dined on Dobby's excellent if slightly experimental stuffed turkey, filled in Claude on the comings and goings of Hogwarts and the various misadventures of a certain group of three Lions and three Snakes with occasionally absurd but always funny commentary from Dobby, and exchanged presents early since Valeria supposedly could not miss the Yule Ball without causing some sort of international incident, according to Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape. She had learned from Claude that the parents of all muggleborns had been informed by the Headmaster of their children's Hogwarts arrest for the holidays well before the Yule Ball was announced to the students themselves - which explained her parents' absence. They'd gone on a short vacation to the States, while Claude had elected to remain behind and have two weeks' worth of wild parties and role-playing sessions with his friends.

"I don't get it." Claude said, frowning at the quite expensive green leather wallet that was her Christmas gift to him. "Is there a hidden button I need to press to see the magic?"

"Nope." She snatched it, and threw it into the fireplace. When her brother failed to show a reaction, she retrieved it and returned it to him in its still-pristine condition. "Dragonskin; it can resist any non-cursed fire, no matter how hot. It's also bulletproof, knife-proof, and generally at least as tough as steel, yet flexible. Magic-resistant, too; the average witch can't snatch it with magic - though they can still mind-control you and ask for it or blow you up and get it from your remains."

"That fills me with confidence - thanks, sis!" he dead-panned, and took a sip of the glowing amber liquid in his glass. Steam came out of his ears even as his eyes watered; Firewhiskey was potent stuff, especially for non-wizards. "Whose idea was it to give teenage girls wands?"

"Does that mean you don't like your gift? A certain teenage girl enchanted it after all. Oh well, I guess I'll have to find a use for it." Especially after all the hours she'd worked to force the enchantment on the magic-resistant material. At least it had been good practice for the more powerful enchantments she'd need to cast in the future. To make sure Claude appreciated what he was turning down, she took out several fifty-pound notes - all the Muggle money she had at hand - and put them in the wallet's inner pocket that would only open for the owner. A few moments later, a second stack of identical notes appeared in the outer pocket. "Duplication Charm. Anything nonmagical and non-living up to a quarter pound an hour can be copied; the rarer and more exotic substances won't last more than a few hours, but copied food is edible and paper will last for a long time."

"Cool! Unlimited pizzas, booze, and computer upgrades" he got the wallet back, of course. "Wait, don't wizards have laws about messing with the Muggle economy, or lending powerful magical artifacts to muggles?"

"What was that?" she shouted back, one hand curled around her left ear. "I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am!"

After that her brother agreed to pretty much all the small favours she asked of him, including a couple of his hair so she could visit some questionable establishments entirely incognito. Not that he wouldn't have agreed anyway; she was just staying Slytherin in principle and making sure Claude's good mood eclipsed any desire for retaliation when she contacted his latest girlfriend under disguise to get all the juicy details.

What were siblings for if not for messing with each other?

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The pre-Yule-Ball preparations were a period of unusual peace and quiet for the Snake Pit. Certain elements had initially protested the cease-fire with mudbloods and blood traitors, on account of a certain Gryffindor boy's invasion earlier in the week. For the first time Daphne seemed as if she'd become a bigger target for snide remarks, malicious pranking, and straight-out hexing than Valeria herself. Fortunately for certain pureblood dandies' continued survival, Tracey had reminded everyone that she was better than any other student in both Cleaning and Concealment Charms. When Draco Malfoy had asked how that could possibly be relevant, she'd just activated the automatic-cleaning spells she'd cast on his and his minions' mouths over the past few hours without them realizing. Ten minutes of spitting bubbles later, even Malfoy had changed his mind.

Every girl became more and more agitated as the nearly a dozen hours they'd had to prepare quickly ran out. Had they used enough hair-straightening potion? Would their pimple-remover's magic last for the duration of the festivities? Should they try the new impervious lipstick and eyeshadow, or rely on Colour-Changing Charms? Should they risk an Enlarging Charm or two, or trust in the various appearance-altering potions they'd purchased? (They should; Valeria had brewed most of them). Had the resizing enchantments on their dress robes worked correctly? Were they about to break down and make fools of themselves? Valeria had decided to avoid the whole self-doubt thing via judicious application of Calming Draughts. Unhealthy? Perhaps - but so was undue stress when your negative emotions could manifest as cursed fire.

"Wow!"

For perhaps the first time, Pansy Parkinson had offered a compliment to another girl without sounding snide or grudging. It was one thing for them to know Daphne was the second best-looking girl in the entire school, another thing to have the Ice Princess walk out of the dormitories dressed in a silver dress accented with bands of emerald green, wearing several pieces of jewelry in diamond and emerald combinations that brightened her pale green eyes and spun-silver hair. The image was completed by Ancient Greek-style sandals, a ridiculously complicated hairdo from the same time period, and several strategically placed laurel leaves frozen so deeply with magic they seemed to smoke.

"Potter is a lucky bastard..." someone commented. Valeria thought he was Theo Nott. She wasn't sure and it didn't matter anyway - she agreed with the sentiment, if not the words. Even in her best dress robes - green so dark it was almost black, with a sash of artfully tarnished silver showing covert images of the Tale of Three Brothers - she'd never reach that level of perfection without cheating... and she knew Daphne had not. Pansy, in the serious yet elegant purple robes she'd picked over a frilly pink dress at the last moment, came a bit closer, and Lillian Moon came a distant second with her gleaming grey dress, but no other girl even came within hailing distance; for that one night, Valeria's best female friend would be queen.

Those with dates within their House stayed behind, and all of them who'd managed to ensnare a more naive boy from the other Houses or even the visiting foreigners ventured forth to draw in their catch and claim their prize.

It would be a night to remember.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

For the life of him, Cedric could not remember why he'd agreed to accompany the younger Slytherin girl to the Yule ball. She hadn't been the friendliest, best-mannered, or more outgoing witch who'd expressed interest in him. She wasn't the most good-looking either and, let's face it, that mattered a lot; Cedric had long ago chosen not to lie to himself if he could help it. They'd even argued, if anyone could call his quiet, simmering anger about the bullying debacle an argument. Cho had explained it had all been a misunderstanding; she hadn't been one of the bullies. She'd only been there because her friend Marietta had asked her to. But Cedric's doubts and Cho's annoyingly persistent scars and the insecurity that went with them had been enough to ruin that potential date.

He couldn't really complain, though; Valeria Campbell could hold an intelligent conversation even though she was only a mediocre dancer, and was interested in him without devolving either into a mindless fangirl or into a crazed stalker. And despite her House of origin, she could be refreshingly direct like many a Hufflepuff. Overall it was turning out to be a fair date - but not quite great. He was a little too old for her, he reckoned, and she a bit too wild. He'd be wary of accidentally taking advantage of her, if he didn't have the feeling she had already taken advantage of him, somehow.

"You don't seem to be having that much of a good time" he told her during a break between songs. "Dancing isn't your thing, I take it?" She was sweaty from the exercise, smiling, even a bit red in excitement, but she didn't seem to be having as great a time as some other pairs... Potter and Greengrass for example.

"Oh no!" Her smile widened into a knowing, if a bit self-deprecating smirk. "I do need to engage in something I am not good at from time to time; keeps my head from swelling uncontrollably."

"Humility from a Slytherin?! The world is coming it an end isn't it?" he joked and they both laughed. "Perhaps we should sit down for a moment, talk. I can't say we know each other very well."

"Not bad, Diggory. You can say 'we should talk' without sounding like you're about to break a girl's heart." She sighed. "Merlin, this was a mistake. You aren't having a great time, are you?" A loaded question if there ever was one. In the end, he decided on honesty; Hufflepuff all the way.

"Not a really great time, no. We're having fun, but something's missing." They found seats in one of the tables further from the remaining dancers. A flick of his wand softened the chairs without making them melt, and muffled the sounds of the crowd a bit so they could have a conversation. A flick of hers, and a pair of Butterbeers were summoned to their table, along with glasses and some ice. "And you do seem to have other things on your mind. Care to talk about them?"

"Are you friend-zoning me Cedric, or this is standard Hufflepuff tactic?" She tossed her blonde mane over one shoulder in mock indignation, then both of them laughed again. The atmosphere changed between them, that eerie tension pressing them closer relaxing momentarily.

"Probably both, for now," he admitted, and found it was true only as he said it. Whatever attraction there might be between them was set aside, in favour of simple companionship. "So, what vastly important things do you have to think about that the Yule Ball can't hold your attention?"

"The same you do, I reckon." Another sigh, a sip from their butterbeers. "It is this whole tournament fiasco."

"Shouldn't I be more worried about it, since I'm a Champion and all?" he teased, then remembered a certain piece of information and things just clicked. "You're friends with Harry Potter... and he is worried." Cedric waited for a reaction; he was fairly good at reading people but sometimes Slytherins could be tricky. As he expected, a reaction was not forthcoming so he fell back on honesty once again. "You know, I wasn't quite certain I believed him... about not putting his name in the Goblet I mean. Too many coincidences... and always happening to the same person, even if he's the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Not coincidences; conspiracies." She gulped down her remaining Butterbeer, and summoned another. Luckily the school had paid for everything, or that would be stealing. "But that's neither here nor there. Harry's a Champion when he didn't choose to, and must compete now - unless someone slags the goblet with Fiendfyre. Not that the Ministry values lives over a powerful magical artifact."

"Are you..." Cedric paused, his discomfort increasing by the moment. "Are you trying to get me to help him?" His worried question was met with laughter, because of course it would be! Slytherins don't give straight answers, even if they are somewhat cute, blonde, teenage girls.

"No, I'm trying to get you to tell him to watch out." Except when they do... and even then they make little sense. She shook her head, a bit more than a simple gesture warranted, and maybe a bit unevenly. Was she drunk? "See, Harry only really has two speeds; Weasley laziness, and damn the killing curses, full speed ahead. Somehow, he got stuck into that messed-up head of his that 'competing' means 'trying your best to win, even at the risk of your life'. When he shouldn't really be trying, when he should be playing it safe, he's taking insane risks to the point his other friends and I do anything we can to keep him alive." Blue eyes locked into brown, and Cedric found he could not look away, his gaze snared as if by magic. Which it probably was. "Harry won't stop charging ahead, and I won't risk his life or friendship. All I'm asking you is, if the opportunity presents itself in a task, knock him out of first place even if you have to rough him up a bit. Hopefully, he'll get the idea he should be more careful."

The discussion turned to lighter subjects after that, most about sixth-year lessons. Despite being a fourth year, Campbell could keep up with him in several subjects, but Herbology and Transfiguration turned out not to be her forte, while they were his own. He taught her a few thing, gave a useful hint or two, then they got up and made another attempt at dancing. It went better than their previous attempts, the weight on her shoulders lightened, the awkwardness of not knowing his partner ground away through friendly conversation. He had quite a bit of fun in the end. Maybe the young Slytherin girl was growing on him. Not that he admitted so out loud; he wanted to avoid the various fungus jokes.

A hearty dinner followed the dance, along with a lot of friendly small-talk. At the stroke of midnight, Headmaster Dumbledore rose from his throne, and the music faded away. The other Heads followed his lead, as did Madam Bones herself and... was that Percy Weasley?

"Your attention for a few minutes ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, honoured guests." Dumbledore's deep voice carried to the ends of the Great Hall as if by magic, probably some wandless variant of Sonorous. All conversation died down, but numerous, rapid whisper exchanges multiplied. Cedric would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued himself.

"Since ancient times, the Triwizard Tournament has been a way to promote magical cooperation between not only our schools, but our nations. Healthy competition and peaceful gatherings of many witches and wizards are the two most important factors of the Tournament; conflict, yet trust. In other tasks our Champions might show courage, cunning, intelligence, and determination, but we judges felt something was missing from this series of tasks, something that would embody Trust, not just Competition. And after some changes to this Tournament's planning, I dare say we found it." The ancient sorcerer paused for effect, every student - and most adults present, too - hanging from his every word.

"Thus the Second Task, the Hidden Task, was, unbeknownst to our Champions and their many, many fans, this very Yule Ball!"

Pandemonium ensued. Cedric himself was gobsmacked... the Yule Ball, a task? How would this even work?

"Without knowing what to expect and thus showing their true selves, the Champions were marked on cooperation, open-mindedness, yet also respect for wizarding tradition, propriety, and good manners." Dozens of voices grew louder, some shouting questions, others shouting arguments, most just shouting. Albus Dumbledore simply smiled and weathered the onslaught until relative quiet once again dominated the Great Hall. Then he spoke once more.

"To mister Harry Potter, for a very bold opening and a willingness to overcome centuries of blind prejudice, thirty-seven points!" The Gryffindors went wild for a bit, but they were the only ones. Thirty-seven was not that high a score, and Cedric could see why it was given. While Harry's date - was that Daphne Greengrass?! - was a perfect representation of what a witch could and should be, Harry himself did not hold up well under the public eye. Not only shy, but somewhat awkward socially, and without the knowledge of how to complement his date in either attire or action. He'd let Greengrass lead in most of their dances, even.

"To mister Cedric Diggory, for standing up to one's friends as well as against them, forty points!" Hufflepuff exploded. Even as his ears reddened and his face flushed, Cedric wondered just how much the Headmaster and the other judges knew about what had transpired between him, Cho, and Valeria. He hoped they didn't know too much, but knew they probably did.

"To mister Victor Krum, for making an effort towards international cooperation that was finally rewarded, forty-nine points!" For the first time Cedric wondered how exactly the judges awarded said points. Krum had been dancing with a beautiful redhead girl in a blood-red, Durmstrang-like dress that couldn't have been from... no, really? Cedric was gobsmacked for the second time that night; Krum's date was Ginny Weasley! A Ginny Weasley with her hair, dress, and make-up so artfully done that he had not recognized her at all. Given their alarmed shouts, neither had her brothers!

"And finally to miss Fleur Delacour, for excellent socializing, international cooperation, great networking abilities, and insidious tactics, we award fifty-six points!"


	27. Dark Developments

**The second task being the Yule Ball was chosen because a great wizard does not only need to be brave, or powerful, or knowledgeable, or wise, but also a part of wizarding society. Beauxbatons also picked it as a task because their champion was far more likely to do well. Remember; in this story each school has picked two tasks, with the last being decided by all three, rather than Bagman failing to think us something visually impressive other than dragons.**

 **Disclaimer: did the Trio in canon use normal pens despite all the magical improvements available to wizards? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me; he belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Nott, Malfoy, and Parkinson had claimed an entire corner of the Slytherin common room for themselves when Valeria woke up the following morning, and were casting various spells at a huge pile of currently blank badges. For all his bluster and idiotic attempts at gaining control of Slytherin and the school at large through his father's influence, Draco was not really a bad wizard; at the speed with which he infused the little round pieces of metal with spells, he'd probably have hundreds of them ready in only a few days. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about his ingenuity; from what Valeria could tell, most of the enchantment was a complex Colour-Changing Charm. Then she noticed that Theo and Pansy were not actually working, but rather listening to a really loud argument taking place just outside the entrance to the common room, occasionally giggling and commenting while Draco tried to ignore the whole thing.

 _"...should have thought of that before asking me to the ball..."_

 _"...could have fixed it yourself, you big pansy but nooo..."_

"Hey there, Campbell!" Nott greeted the muggleborn Slytherin as she approached. "Are you here to make a bet? Current odds are five to one in favour of the Halfblood dyke, though the Weasel is-"

 _"Prohibeo Locūtum!"_

People sometimes spoke politely and with deliberation, forming opinions both welcome and insightful. For the remainder ninety-nine percent of everything ever said, one could always rely on the spell of Forbidden Speech. A compulsion and a curse, it would prevent someone from speaking about a given subject or in a given way, without otherwise silencing them. Or at least those were Valeria's intentions in creating it. As it was only the second spell she'd ever attempted to invent and nobody would help her try out new dark magic, it was still very much in the testing phase. Fortunately, Nott had just volunteered himself as a test subject, so all was well. She'd have to see if he'd lose more than the ability to insult people and reverse any mishaps... if she felt like it. There were more important things that still needed to be done.

Walking out of the common room, she found Tracey and Ron glaring at each other but having fallen blessedly silent for the time being. Unfortunately, the demands of friendship required that she get them talking again. Having a repeat of Ron's and Harry's break-up would be too much of a headache for everyone, especially since Tracey was unlikely to be as passive at making her point as Harry had been.

"So... I couldn't help but overhear you two arguing." Morgana's tits, she so sucked at this. Daphne should have been here but alas, the Slytherin princess had mysteriously vanished after the Yule Ball. Not that her disappearance was that much of a mystery to her five friends; Daphne's parents had only recently recovered fully of the debacle that had been the Quidditch World Cup finals, and now the whole family was coming together for the holidays. Daphne had almost certainly asked Harry for Dobby's help in getting home, just as Valeria herself had done.

"Of course we have!" Ron almost roared. "Little Miss Snake didn't think my formal robes were good enough and suggested I buy..."

"I did nothing of the sort!" Tracey hissed back, her normally stoic, unflappable expression twisting into a grimace full of indignation, anger, and... no, Valeria had nothing. Reading people was not her forte. "I merely mentioned you could have tried to fix them with a bit of magic. I'd have gladly helped, too!"

"Now I'm so rubbish at magic I need help in household Charms?!" Ron spat back, illogically. The brunette Slytherin was better than any of them in household Charms; there was no shame in admitting... ah, so that's what this was about. The teenage dark witch resisted the urge to groan, face-palm, _and_ stomp her foot at how often relationships caused such enormous problems; that would be immature. On the same grounds, she didn't magically compel her two friends to kiss and make up, no matter how tempting it was. Which left her still with a problem on her hands, and a meeting with a Professor in less than half an hour.

"You know what? I give up!" she admitted, interrupting Ron and Tracey's renewed bickering. "Seeing you two go at it like two heads of the same Cerberus fighting over a dragonbone has proven to my satisfaction that this whole relationship thing is a huge waste of time!" She scowled; they blinked in confusion. "Go ahead and fight over a stupid formal robe, pride, and inadequacy issues, when one of you is the best at glamours in the entire school, the other comes from a family whose every member is a powerful witch or wizard, and are both potential targets of an immortal serial killer waiting to do all of us in." She turned around with a huff and shot off, grumbling at her own idiocy over a certain Champion not a day ago.

Boys! They always ruined everything.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The three hundredth offending piece of parchment in a row failed to wither under Valeria's angry glare; it wasn't even mildly impressed. Gritting her teeth and setting various anthropomorphic contemplations aside, she gripped the enormous pen a little harder and started writing over the uneven black letters with bright red ink. As this was one of Pansy's essays, pointing out mistakes and docking points would have given her a certain feeling of visceral satisfaction if her writing hand didn't give another warning jab of pain, signalling that it was about to cramp up, or her stiff back did not remind her she'd been going at it for far too long. Moody's gloomy, artefact-filled office didn't have a clock, but the young Slytherin witch was certain she'd been correcting other students' essays for at least four hours.

"It ain't easy, is it?" Moody croaked from where he fiddled with what looked like a Potions recipe. It was written in Latin, in some sort of cipher, and upside-down from her desk so Valeria couldn't be certain.

"What isn't, sir?" she asked idly, far more interested in massaging her left hand before it cramped once more; Moody had not allowed her to use any potions, and she'd never been particularly good at Healing.

"Teaching, lassie." The one-eyed man removed his magical eye with a squelching, sucking sound that would have been disgusting to most people. Potioneers and Necromancers were made of sterner stuff however, even teenage ones. That, and Valeria had drunk a calming draught before coming to serve her detention; burning down Moody's office with him inside it would probably get her more detention. "You children just see us in class, know teachers have the power and authority to do all kinds of interesting stuff, but rarely consider the drawbacks." He pointed at the stacks of parchment I'd yet to mark in lieu of explanation.

"Whatever you say, sir." A hundred more parchments to go till she was free from this hell; Moody had even forbidden her from examining his various enchanted objects and Dark Detectors, or attempt to discover how they worked, the sadist! Seriously, marking essays? She'd have preferred a fun detention, like another foray into the Forbidden Forest.

"Honestly, I'd expected you to stop long before now."

"I never give up, sir." She growled back, ignoring the irony of that statement after her encounter with Tracey and Ron.

"It ain't about giving up, lassie." the retired Auror growled. "You been using a Dictaquill for all your homework, tis a miracle your hand ain't useless by now."

"Well, excuse me for not wanting to use this monstrously large, awkward thing!" she retorted, waving the pen he'd given her around. It wasn't even self-inking!

"Nae, I guess ye'd prefer the Muggle stuff, eh?" he asked rather accusingly, then chuckled. Well, it was probably a chuckle; you could never tell with the man. "Ever wondered what essay writing is all about?"

"Torturing us students was it, sir?" He laughed, quite derisively; it grated against Valeria's nerves.

"Heh. You're probably crap at Duelling, aren't you, Campbell?" he mocked. "You barely passed Messrs Crabbe and Goyle in hex deflection, if I recall."

"What does this have to do with anything?" She demanded, then almost as an afterthought added; "Sir!"

"Well, essay writing is handling an awkwardly large pen accurately enough not to mess up yer letters, and fast enough to finish those enormous essays we demand, aye?" He smirked. "Them fancy pens are almost wand-sized, and them squiggly fancy letters look mightily like some wand movements to me." He shrugged then. "But if you muggleborns don't want to do it, you must know something we don't; more power to you." He fixed her with a hard, one-eyed glare. "For your information, my handwriting was and still is perfect, Campbell. Yours... not so much."

Valeria gaped at the crippled Professor, trying to wrap her mind around the implications.

"Manual dexterity is manual dexterity and we can't have a thousand students casting spells all day." Moody frowned at her, his magical eye turning to fix her with its stare from where it floated inside a glass of water. "But somehow, you're less hopeless than you should have been after missing years of practice."

"I..."

There was a knock on the door then, Moody's magical eye turning to look through it. Valeria shuddered a bit, as she did every time she saw it in action. To be watched through all cover or concealment, clothing included, to walk around the castle never knowing who might be watching... Moody bid the visitor enter, and the door opened, Pansy walking into his office quite confidently despite Moody being who and what he was. For some reason, of all the Slytherins Pansy was shown the most leniency by their mercurial Professor, with Draco and Nott shown the least. It didn't make sense, then again little did with paranoid ex-Aurors.

"What is it, Miss Parkinson?" Moody asked in his usual growl.

"I..." Pansy paused, looked at Valeria for a moment, then went on. "I received an anonymous gift for Christmas, Professor. I'd like to have it checked for curses."

"Just throw into the fireplace, lassie." Moody said with a shrug. "That's what I usually do with most gifts, anonymous or no - except when I blow them up!"

"It's a beautiful ring, sir." Pansy complained, scandalized at the suggestion. "I wouldn't want to ruin it!"

"Fine, lassie." Moody said, not very enthusiastic but not turning the girl down either. He set aside the flask he'd been drinking on all night and drew his wand in a lightning-fast motion both girls obviously envied. "Guess I can spare five minutes."

Pansy stared challengingly at Valeria as she set down an expensive velvet box on a large, heavily-corrected piece of parchment that had not dried out yet, and opened it to reveal a heavy, old-style ring. It appeared to be made of platinum, with lots and lots of emeralds on it, but it was more gaudy than beautiful. Moody stared at it critically, murmured several revealing spells, and nodded.

"Well, it doesn't appear to be cursed or charmed." He raised his wand once more. "Better check it for potions and other magic too, though; those can still be-"

Moody was cut off in mid-sentence as the ring wavered and with a POP! turned into a baby Mandrake, which proceeded to scream its tiny lungs out. Valeria's earrings, enchanted with just this situation in mind, projected a Silencing Charm that protected her. 'Pansy's' earrings were similarly enchanted, but Moody had no such protection; he fainted dead away. A flick of 'Pansy's' wand silenced the baby Mandrake, and then they both removed their earrings.

"Remind me to thank Neville, will you?" 'Pansy' said conversationally, as she opened a purse suspiciously similar to the one Valeria had not brought with her in detention, and removed from it a familiar-looking wizarding tent. "By the way, did you know Pansy's breasts were all natural? I think I'm jealous!"

"Less talking, more pillaging!" Valeria told her future self as they both started loading Moody's magical equipment into the tent. Sadly, they had neither the time nor the experience to deal with whatever traps the ex-Auror had applied to his seven-compartment expanded trunk; anything lying around plus the magical eye would have to suffice. "How much time do we have?"

"Three more minutes." Pansy said as they struggled to shove the Foe-glass through the tent's opening; it was showing their own images, of course. "By the way, here's your Polyjuice dose." The two girls exchanged clothes as quickly as they could; a minute after that 'Pansy' was melting back into future-Valeria while present-Valeria was changing into Pansy and taking the Time-Turner from her future self. Then the new 'Pansy' put on the silencing earrings, placed the magical tent back inside her purse and prepared to leave. Couldn't resist one last quip though.

"Off to study all the loot; an Auror's enchantments should be fascinating, don't you think?" They both wondered - not for the first time - why Snape had bound them to a contract with such a wide interpretation. Then the new 'Pansy' momentarily unsilenced the Mandrake, sending her future self into a hours-long magical stupor. Once she was out of Moody's office she'd wait around until the Polyjuice was about to run out then go back in time and complete the time-loop. Nobody would suspect her, and if they did, they couldn't prove it with legal means. Frowning, she checked Pansy's breasts. Her future self was right... damn it!

That was when Moody started literally melting, shedding prosthetic limbs, wounds, and years, until only a pale-skinned, young wizard in his late twenties or early thirties remained.

Well... crap.


	28. Conversations

**As far as I know, the mandrake trap is an original idea. Adult mandrakes were canonically used by Sprout in the Battle of Hogwarts in canon (which gives her the highest kill count of all the defenders) but one wasn't used as a surprise in the books.**

 **Disclaimer: did Barty Crouch's illness raise no red flags in either Dumbledore's group or the Ministry until it was too late in canon? If yes, I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"What kind of school security do you run in this place, Dumbledore?" Sirius Black demanded as everyone responsible for the Tournament's security had hastily convened at the Hospital wing after the latest developments. "A teacher gets replaced by an impostor, said impostor has the run of the school for months before disappearing, and nobody notices?"

"The same kind of security that let you and your friends rampage unchecked, Black." Severus Snape spat back vindictively. "Or has your memory gone the way of your dignity? You should -"

"Thank you, Severus." Albus Dumbledore talked over the brewing argument even as Amelia Bones chuckled mirthlessly. "How this happened we do not know - unless one of you has a new idea?"

"I have one." The new Minister said darkly. "I invite Rita Skeeter to give an exclusive interview, and dark wizards just happen to interrupt it and off her." The former red-headed witch glared at everyone present, but reserved her most vicious glowers for the unflappable Headmaster. "The Daily Prophet is not just crucifying you, Albus. With the excuse of yet another security breach in the Tournament, they're also becoming vocally anti-Ministry. Malfoy's hand is so far up their collective arse his words are coming out of their mouths."

The junior members of their group momentarily gape at the newly foul-mouthed Madam Bones, then Sirius chuckles while Severus scowls. Albus Dumbledore's beard twitches almost imperceptibly; an imaginative mind might wonder whether he was barely suppressing a chuckle despite the seriousness of the occasion.

"Did ye find where that damn impostor fled to, Albus?" Alastor Moody - the real Alastor Moody - growled. Despite his months-long incarceration, the retired Auror was in a fairly good shape; the impostor had treated him well enough as they'd be sharing bodies, along with any wounds and ailments Alastor had. Copying them was one of the unpleasant necessities of Polyjuice Potion, if it was to accurately reflect the individual to be replaced, but in this case it had saved the grizzled veteran's life and health as the impostor could not get rid of him. "Bastard took my eye and dark detectors when he left!"

"Didn't you cover them with anti-theft charms and curses?" Sirius asked with genuine interest. "Should we expect the impostor to turn up with two heads, or turned inside-out?"

"'Course I did, laddie." Moody snorted. "Damned Crouch had more than enough time to dispel the lot of them."

"Crouch? As in the Head of International Magical Cooperation?" Minister Bones questioned. "That makes little sense, Alastor."

"I would recognize Barty Crouch Junior anywhere, Ma'am. Hell, I helped capture him and the Lestranges." The old Auror scowled. "And it makes perfect sense. Some Death Eater like Malfoy or Selwyn arranges for Junior to disappear from Azkaban so they could have a wet-works specialist we'd never look for. Was highly suspicious how a young, healthy, powerful wizard 'died' only a year into his stay in Azkaban, no? 'Sides, when him and a disguised Lestrange took me down in my own home, I heard her call him 'Junior'."

"How did you know it was Lestrange if she was disguised?" Sirius asked his old mentor, curious about the answer, but was interrupted by his old school enemy when Snape brought up another point.

"What are the chances that Barty Crouch Senior is unaware of those developments?" The Potions Master said in his smooth-as-silk voice. "His wife mourned their only son's passing. Died, in fact, not much after it. A curious coincidence... and then there is how old pureblood families have ways to track down their members."

"What are you thinking, Severus?" the Headmaster asked, already knowing the way his Potions Master's thoughts were turning. It was a suspicion he shared with the much younger man, one that bordered on certainty given recent revelations.

"You can't be serious!" Amelia exclaimed, then glared Sirius Black into silence before he could make his usual joke. "Barty Crouch we know would never be involved in..." then the Minister paused and really thought about it. "He came down with a serious illness... after the Death Eater attack in the World Cup... for the first time in his life!" The Minister's voice became more and more high-pitched as she noticed coincidences too. "Merlin and Morgana! He was directly involved in preparations both there and with the Tournament! Do you think...?"

"He needs to be found after we conclude here." the Grand Sorcerer confirmed as he opened a cabinet in the right of his desk, and took out a glowing, rune-carved stone bowl almost too large to be carried by hand. A silvery substance between liquid and gas swirled within it, flashes of various images appearing seemingly randomly on its surface. "Before we start a search however, it is best if we have a complete picture of the problem. If you would share your remembered interactions with the impostor, Alastor?"

The old Auror stared at the Pensieve with distaste, but finally acquiesced. Sharing memories was not something done lightly, but that bastard had his Eye, his wand, and several of his dark detectors. Alastor Moody would not rest until they were all found, and the thief punished severely.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"Only two days without supervision, and she already managed to put herself in a magical coma." Daphne commented, the silver-haired girl's sarcastic tone failing to conceal her worry for her friend. "How typically Campbell." She frowned prettily, then glared at the other members of their group convening in the Hospital wing not far from where Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and several very important visitors had just finished discussing who-knew-what with the newly recovered Professor Moody. "I know Harry's busy with the Tournament, but why didn't the rest of you keep an eye on her? You know how she is!" Daphne was both worried about and interested in how exactly that paranoid, constantly-vigilant ex-Auror had been surprised by any attacker, but she was far more worried about her friend who had been caught into the same attack and would have to spend at least a day in a hospital bed.

"Have you ever managed to keep an eye on our resident lunatic when she doesn't want to be followed?" Tracey countered, then sighed. "She was supposed to be in a detention, not doing one of her crazy potion-brewing or enchanting experiments. At least Madam Pomfrey says she'll make a full recovery by this evening."

"Good to know what time we need to be back in Gryffindor Tower and behind at least three layers of defensive spells." Ron said, rolling his eyes at the girls' glares. "Can you imagine how she'll react when she wakes up?" He scrunched up his face in an angry expression and continued in a mocking, girly voice. "I lost how many hours of reading and spell practice? Where's the one responsible? I need to work on the latest curses Professor Moody showed us!"

"This isn't the time to make fun of her, Ron." Harry said with surprising intensity. "We need to find what happened and why. Someone already tried to get me killed by entering me in the Tournament against my will. According to Sirius, Dumbledore hired Moody as extra security... and now someone tries to take him out?" The Potter Scion looked down at the unconscious, shallowly breathing blonde girl lying on the bed before him. It struck him just then how small Valeria was, for all her magical skills. Being caught in whatever had taken Moody out was a frightening coincidence... or was it? "What if... the escaped Death Eaters are responsible?"

"If they are, you aren't about to go after them, Harry James Potter!" Daphne declared in no uncertain terms. "Or did you conveniently forget how outclassed all of us were the last time we stumbled upon them?"

"Oi, we can't just stay here and do nothing, Greengrass!" Ron countered, weathering the girl's glare amazingly well for a change.

"And why is that, Weasley?" the pureblood Scion asked icily. "Have you improved enough in only six months that any confrontation between you and a Death Eater will not result in instant death?"

"No, but no war was ever won without attacking either!" the tall, red-headed boy shot back. "And we are in a war, in case the attack on the World Cup did not convince you." Silence fell as both Tracey and Harry winced, and Daphne's icy glare turned into something much worse.

"One of these days Weasley, your big mouth will get you into real trouble." the silver-haired Slytherin witch hissed, then stalked out of the Hospital wing in obvious fury.

Tracey, Ron, and Harry bickered for a few more minutes afterwards, until Madam Pomfrey arrived to throw them all out. Only one of the small group of friends had not taken part in their discussion and subsequent argument, staying silent even when the others had asked his opinion in several cases. Neville had a good reason to do so though. As a Herbology prodigy, he noticed a few things his friends had missed. As someone who'd come to hate Professor Moody after his use of the Unforgivables and the girls had clued in the boys as to why magical eyes should be banned, he'd also collaborated with their now unconscious friend in certain projects. As such, he had a better idea than they did on what had really happened... perhaps better than Madam Pomfrey even. And now he was wondering whether he should share his conclusions.

For Neville was sure Valeria had been knocked out by the cry of a fairly young mandrake... probably the very one he'd helped her turn into a ring during the holidays.


	29. Labels and Badges

**Dumbledore and the teachers found Moody after they investigated the scream coming out of his office. Moody and Valeria were not the only people affected by the Mandrake. As for Barty Junior's ultimate fate... there are plans. Sinister plans.**

 **Disclaimer: was anything ever done to counter the damage Rita Skeeter did to Harry in canon? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me; it belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely non-profit.  
**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

With the third task still unknown, the new year found Harry scrambling to catch up with all his missed homework. Technically, as one of the chosen Champions, he was largely exempt from homework assignments... except for those given by Professor Snape, who would enjoy any excuse to give him detention that would cut into his preparation time. Practically though, having a perfectionist Slytherin as his maybe-girlfriend, ignoring his education was not an option. According to Daphne, they couldn't know what piece of magical knowledge might prove important in the coming tasks. So not only did he have to finish all his assignments, but he was given extra homework in the form of practicing many extracurricular spells for every occasion.

In Astronomy, they'd moved on from the movement of planets and other objects in the Solar system to the charting of stars. Painstakingly noting down hundreds of stars as they observed tiny portions of the sky for hours at a time was not one of Harry's favourite pastimes. Why did they have to do it by hand when even muggles had photography for over a century and wizards could capture images for hundreds of years now, he had no idea - Valeria said it had to do with actually learning the material, but neither Harry nor Ron believed her.

In Charms, diminutive Professor Flitwick warned them that they'd be trying something different now that the new year had arrived. Then he presented them each with a box full of broken glass and the task of mending them into their original state. The Mending Charm was a handy spell they'd learned all the way back in their first year and was, according to their Professor, largely responsible for the old styles dominating wizarding fashion; if something was essentially brand new after fifty years, why change it? That statement had made Ron go redder in the face than a tomato; Harry suspected it had something to do with some events during the Yule Ball that would not be mentioned on pain of the Slug-Vomiting Curse. Yule Ball misgivings aside, their current assignment was still proving surprisingly challenging. Not only did they have to apply the spell on multiple objects at once, but they did not even know what the original objects even were. By the end of the lesson, only a red-headed Hufflepuff girl named Susan Bones had finished the assignment; she'd carefully separated the mass of broken glass through clever applications of Summoning Charms, then Mended each group of pieces one by one. According to Professor Flitwick, once they practised their Mending Charm enough, it should do exactly that when applied to multiple broken objects - provided their intent was clear enough in their mind.

Runes were becoming a bit more complicated - and confusing. It turned out wizards had invented not only personal or specialized runes that had never been part of the original runic language, but also runes that represented numbers. The confusing part was that while they had to learn to translate those runes, they were not used as part of making artifacts. The personal runes could be used to mark objects as a way to track them that could not simply be dispelled - Merlin was rumoured to have marked various artifacts with his personal rune for example - but the Goblins used their own version of runic numbers in their creations, including on minted coins, and enchanters that still used the old method of runic scripts rather than permanent spells wrote all numbers in full in the original characters only. Professor Babbling said something about a controversy back when the Ministry had been first formed, but as history was not part of their lesson, Harry didn't have to memorize the details... something he was very thankful for.

In Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid's lessons about Salamanders, lizard-like magical beasts with fire affinity, continued. To almost everyone's delight, the Blast-Ended Skrewts were becoming too aggressive (and large) for fourth-years to handle so Hagrid had to deal with them himself. His oddly guilty expression made them think the gentle half-giant was hiding something; Harry fervently hoped that whatever it was, they would not have to deal with it in the future, as had happened with Fluffy, Norberta, the Acromantulas, Buckbeak the Hippogryph, and pretty much every single one of Hagrid's monsters. Ron said that they were all doomed; Tracey just giggled.

In Herbology, things were looking up. They'd finally left the disgusting Bubotubers and their even more revolting pus behind, to work on producing flowers out of thin air. According to Professor Sprout, creating anything out of thin air was considered normally Conjuration, a difficult form of Transfiguration they'd normally work on in their sixth year. However, anyone who'd mastered the plant-growth spells they'd worked on in earlier years would find the spell easier to cast. Harry's attempts proved successful almost immediately, probably due to all the work he'd done with Daphne and Valeria on conjuring birds and snakes. He decided to work on making a better-looking bouquet of flowers to surprise Daphne with, much like Mister Olivander had done with Fleur in the Weighing of Wands. He didn't even notice Professor Sprout awarding him points for his good work.

Professor McGonagal's fourth-year curriculum had them work on guinea fowl to guinea pig, hedgehog to pincushion, and chicken to rooster Transfigurations. Harry was a bit iffy on the theory, so he followed Daphne's advice and focused on his visualization; his results improved rapidly after that. Strangely enough, animate to animate and animate to inanimate transfigurations were both harder than the inanimate to animate work they'd been doing the previous year. On mentioning that to the group, he fell on the receiving end on one of Valeria's lectures. After nearly twenty minutes of complex theory he understood that hedgehog to pincushion was as complex a change as pincushion to hedgehog, except the initial target was more complex to begin with and thus harder to alter. When asked why she hadn't simply said so the Slytherin witch had huffed indignantly and left, muttering about dunderheads. Had she not been both blonde and quite short, Harry could have sworn she was a relative of Professor Snape's.

Speaking of the Potions Master, he had them working on undetectable poisons. They were reviewing that third-year subject with the goal of creating advanced antidotes. The poisons being undetectable, neither poison-detection charms nor chemical or magical markers would reveal them; they had to recognize them from their effects. The hard part was doing so before the poison killed the victim, and quickly enough that they had time to provide the antidote. This became even harder when some magical potions could kill in under a minute, leaving you practically no time to get a potion at all. Seamus had been brave enough or stupid enough (Harry was leaning towards the latter) to ask Snape what the point of the lesson was if they couldn't brew an antidote in time. The Slytherin Head of House had proceeded to present no less than two dozen antidotes from within the folds of his robes, and told them with his customary sneer and not a little smugness that a Potions Master should always be prepared. Harry had filled a vial with his best guess at a right antidote for that day's challenge, labelled it, and walked up to Snape's desk to hand it over, when his day turned for the worse...

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"What is the meaning of this, Malfoy?" Valeria growled as she saw exactly what the badges the little poser was handing out wrote.

"Oh this? This is just raising awareness." Draco said, raising one of the badges high so everyone could see it.

SAVE HARRY POTTER'S MIND

"Do you like them, mudblood?" The ponce laughed. "Wait until you see what they do." And with a press of a button, the message changed.

NO MORE ILLEGAL POTIONS IN HOGWARTS!

He timed the display so Harry and Daphne could see both messages just as they were exiting the Potions classroom together. Daphne affected a mask of supreme disinterest, as usual, but her white-knuckled fingers on her wand told another story. Harry seemed just confused.

"In the dark, Scarhead? Here. The sad task of foiling your dreams falls to me, unfortunately." Malfoy took a copy of Witch Weekly from Pansy's trembling hands - the girl had almost collapsed in laughter by then - and threw it at him. It changed course in mid-flight and came to hover a few inches from Valeria's outstretched hand instead.

"I'll be taking that, thank you." She said with a glower at Harry. "Next time, try not to receive anything from known enemies without testing it first."

"You think I needed to curse the paper?" Draco laughed nasally and annoyingly, as he usually did. "By all means then, test it. Then read and weep." He and his posse turned around to leave. "Be seeing you, mudbloods and blood traitors." Almost despite herself, Valeria followed his advice.

 _HARRY POTTER'S SECRET HEARTACHE_

 _A boy like no other, perhaps_ — _yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen year old Harry Potter thought that he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Pureblood heiress Daphne Greengrass. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss._

 _Miss Greengrass, a surprisingly plain and poor Pureblood girl, seems to have a taste for wealthy wizards that Harry Potter seemed willing to satisfy. Since his arrival at Hogwarts and the Wizarding World, the Boy Who Lived has had a surprisingly close friendship with a close-knit trio of Slytherin girls despite being sorted into Gryffindor and having no previous contact with them. Even more surprisingly, the previously uninterested young boy changed his mind suspiciously quickly only days before the Yule Ball and even broke rules and risked punishments to get into Miss Greengrass' good graces. How was such a rapid, unexpected change brought about? Harry is openly smitten with the devious Miss Greengrass, has already been invited to stay with her in Greengrass Manor over the summer holidays and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl."_

 _However, it may not be Miss Greengrass's doubtful natural charms that have captured the unfortunate young boy's interests._

 _"Greengrass sponsored a muggleborn friend of hers in Slytherin" says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth year student, "Campbell is even more plain than Greengrass but she'd be well-up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. She even sells potions for money! I think that's how they're doing it."_

 _On asking what Miss Parkinson meant, this humble reporter discovered a highly alarming series of events. It would seem that Harry Potter is not the first of Miss Greengrass' conquests. International Quidditch player and Durmstrang Champion Victor Krum was quite taken with her up until the last few days before the Yule Ball. Not only that, but the aforementioned Valeria Campbell, an otherwise unexceptional muggleborn girl, managed to ensnare Cedric Diggory, the third and final male Champion. Up until the Yule Ball, no relationship or even friendship between Mister Diggory and Miss Campbell was even known. Given the skill of both girls in Potions - Campbell alone has the highest marks in the subject than any other student in her year - the entire situation looks more and more like something sinister._  
 _Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate._

"I think it's time for some creative accidents." Valeria said darkly as she passed the magazine to Daphne and Harry. "Harry, do you have Dobby doing anything important these days?"

"You'll be sending him after Malfoy?" he asked dubiously, his face betraying both humiliation and anger at the article. "I know him and Parkinson must have talked but..."

"No, I am thinking of a certain reporter," the shorter blonde declared, and Daphne nodded in agreement and added;

"Public opinion matters, Harry." The Greengrass heiress gripped her wand so tightly her knuckles creaked. "If that libellous scum is willing to ruin our reputations..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he interrupted them, finally realizing what kind of response the two of them were contemplating. "We can't go around attacking reporters, let alone unleashing Dobby on them!"

"Why not?" both girls asked with identical expressions of earnest curiosity and amusement that made Harry re-evaluate just how angry the two of them were.

"Because it's illegal, for one thing!" The two girls snorted. Right, Slytherins. Legality was not much of an issue for them. _Not that it stopped you before_ , a traitorous little voice whispered in his ear. "And because... we can't rush such things, all right? This... article is aimed at me, too." Not something he'd have realized a couple of years before, something his association with three Slytherin girls had changed. "Let me think about it, OK?"

"OK Harry." Daphne said with a sigh. "But I really want to curse that nosy creep."

"Whatever." Valeria said with a roll of her eyes. "I bet you'll have changed your mind by tomorrow."

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Valeria's prediction proved quite accurate; less than twenty-four hours after Rita Skeeter's article went public, Harry's situation in the school became almost as bad as it had been during the Heir of Slytherin debacle in his second year. And with his sanity in question, he couldn't magically prove the truth as anyone prone to believing the article would doubt he actually knew it. He didn't know who was worse; those that pitied him for supposedly falling under Daphne's spell and were angry for his sake, those who made fun of him wherever he went, or all the girls that were simply jealous and turned against Daphne and Valeria? Malfoy's badges were making things worse. Somehow, the ponce had managed to give them out to half the school in only a day, or so it seemed to Harry at times. They were good for knowing which people to avoid, at least.

"They're all gits, mate." Ron said, nodding sagely. "Ignore them and they'll either stop bothering you or they're too idiotic for their opinion to matter."

"Yeah, but it isn't working!" he groaned back as the three Gryffindor friends walked past a group of younger girls following Harry with their eyes and giggling. "You know how I hate all the attention and now Daphne is saying I must take control of my fame, not let others use it against me. And Val's been talking to Dobby again."

"That crazy elf you got from the Malfoys?" Ron shuddered. "Remember the last time he tried to 'save' you?"

"That's precisely what I'm worried about." Harry hissed back as he quickened his pace to avoid a far more dangerous group of younger students. The Creevey Twins, the Carrow Twins, that weird Slytherin firstie who occasionally followed Valeria around, _and_ Ron's sister Ginny, all of them watching him like a bird of prey measures the day's catch.

"I'm not." Neville said, finally speaking up. "I think we have other things to worry about, don't you?"

"Sure." Harry agreed. "But as long as the Death Eaters don't bother us, we won't bother them. I've had enough Inferi to last me a lifetime."

"That's not what I am talking about." Neville said far too seriously. "Promise me, guys; let me check something first before you do anything, OK?"

Harry and Ron quickly agreed, despite the other Gryffindor's strange behaviour. It really wasn't like Neville to be so secretive, or to disappear as soon as he'd asked them for something so odd. What was their friend up to?


	30. Friends and allies

**Disclaimer: did Trelawney's prophecy speak about a Dark Lord more powerful and terrible than ever before and yet what came back was easily outclassed in both power, intelligence, and tactics by some members of the opposition? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. He belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx  
**

The tall, aristocratic woman with the long, lustrous ebony curls, a curvy yet athletic body full of health and vitality, and a proud face of high cheekbones, sharp angles, and large, almond-shaped eyes clashed with her dismal surroundings. From her haughty, forbidding expression and cold beauty, to her elaborate, perfectly-cut robes, she did not fit at all with the dilapidated rooms, dust-covered, cobweb-blocked corridors, cracked, peeling paint, and slowly rotting carpets and furniture. The long-since faded magnificence of the old manor was a twisted reflection of the changes she'd underwent in recent months.

Ascending the old, rickety staircase in rapid, decisive steps, old wood creaking underfoot as she moved with a purpose, she reached the second floor and a cluster of rooms that appeared to have recently been restored, if not full renovated. There were no cobwebs or thick layer of dust in the small storage room, and the various pans, pots, and other kitchen implements haphazardly strewn across its shelves were free of rust and highly polished. One might wonder how the woman actually cooked in the cramped space without a stove or fireplace, but she did not seem particularly concerned. A few flicks of a thin, foot-long wooden rod sent the water boiling in one of the pots and the oil sizzling in one of the pans, another diced the meat and onions and threw them into the pan, while a few more flicks chopped up the vegetables. In only a few seconds a stew was simmering merrily in the fireless, oven-less kitchen, and the woman left it behind to venture into the much grander living room.

Flames danced in the old fireplace, despite the absence of wood or any other fuel, casting hundreds of flickering shadows from the large dining table, the many high-backed chairs, the bookcases and chandeliers. The silence pervading the old manor was broken only by the woman's own steps, and the crackle of fire. Of the three people within, the two adults ignored the woman's arrival entirely. The tall, emaciated, frail old man in the expensive suit was staring at nothing in particular as he occupied a high-backed armchair, as if the woman - all the people in the room in fact - did not even exist. The other man was not much younger, but he was shorter, with broader, if slightly stooped shoulders, thicker limbs and torso, and the weathered, once-harsh but now peaceful face of a happily retired soldier. Despite his considerable limp, he moved around quickly and with ceaseless vitality, cleaning and restoring the old house as he had for many decades. Only if one looked into his milky-white, unmoving eyes would they begin to suspect the truth was far more horrible than appearances indicated.

The woman ignored the men just like they ignored her, as if they did not exist. In any way that truly mattered, they didn't. She walked up to the other occupied chair instead, the one closest to the warmth of the fireplace. As she looked down at its occupant, her cold arrogance faded momentarily, replaced by both sweetness and eagerness for an infinitesimal fraction of a second, then reverted to its previous forbidding expression. The chair's occupant appeared to be a male infant, frail of limb and pale of skin, as if he'd suffered through some horribly disfiguring disease. His face looked more like a misshapen tumour than a baby's innocent perfection, with two glowing red eyes, a twisted slit of a mouth, no nose, and sickly skin stretched thin over the muscles beneath. For all that the tiny thing was a horror out of some drunk junkie's nightmares, the woman smiled at him as she bowed.

"My Lord, the food is being prepared. Should we try something more substantial than your usual potions regimen?"

"No." The denial was a hiss that rent the silence with its alienness, not a sound meant for an infant's throat. "I have little patience for such attempts, Bella, especially today. Your efforts have produced as strong and healthy a body as possible, but having it grow over the span of years was never the plan. And with recent developments, there are some changes to implement."

"My Lord?" the woman asked in confusion, unable to guess at the infant horror's meaning.

"Out as you've recently been you would not know, but Barty has brought some... interesting news." The misshapen thing hissed again, pointing at the old man. "Ministry rumour has it that infamous ex-Auror Moody was just discovered to be a prisoner in his own magical trunk, placed there by a dark wizard. There is much that has been kept secret about the situation, but some hints point towards Moody having been impersonated by parties unknown for quite some time." Now the thing's tone was as mocking as it was cold. "Minister Bones' political opponents demanded an investigation, of course, but the primary suspect was unavailable for questioning. Some of those opponents that informed Barty here of the situation suggested he remain unavailable until they can make their own moves."

"So Junior failed, then." Bella mused, her cold face shifting into an expression of grim satisfaction.

"So it would seem." The nightmare-child hissed, then pointed a thin, pale white rod towards the woman standing over him.

 ** _"Crucio!"_**

Bella gasped and shook, her knees meeting the floor with bruising force if not for the thick carpet before she toppled backwards, writhing soundlessly. Disturbingly, her face held both a grimace of agony and a small, gleeful smirk. She kept writhing and gasping for nearly a minute before she collapsed bonelessly, finally managing to take a few slow breaths. Not once during the obvious torment did she scream, however, and soon afterwards she climbed to her feet with only minor shaking.

"Still, the line of Crouch did not entirely fail us," the monster commented as if what had just happened had been not at all out of the ordinary. "The pieces have been set, the game is underway, even if the outcome is less certain."

"The outcome is more favourable, my Lord," the woman countered with the air of repeating an old argument. "Junior might have been loyal, but he was hardly the best choice."

"And that would be you, Bella?" the infant asked with some exasperation. "We have discussed the risks of such a course of action."

"The risks are well worth the rewards, my Lord." The woman's cold pride was evident in her voice as she argued. "Your homunculus body is already the best any of your servants could have provided, and with your guidance the potion will be as good as even the traitor could have managed. An entire year's preparations and risks have gone into obtaining the best possible source for the blood, so why should the flesh be any different? How else will you really return more powerful and glorious than ever before?"

"How indeed?" the horrid child said with cutting sarcasm. "Pick me up; it would seem that the line of Crouch has outlived its usefulness, and there is one final preparation that might improve things further."

Bellatrix Lestrange picked up the twisted infant form of the Dark Lord with no more hesitation than she'd received his Torture Curse, and lovingly carried him to where the frail old man sat. Anyone who might have seen her rapturous anticipation at that moment would have felt disgust, even the Dark Lord himself. Fortunately, the only two who saw were a long-dead Muggle corpse that still walked at his master's bidding, and a long-since broken wizard that would soon join it... or so she thought.

Tom Riddle who once had been and would soon be again but was not just then Lord Voldemort, stared into the eyes of Barty Crouch the Elder. The other wizard's mind, all but torn apart by frequent violations over the past year, offered little resistance and even less value. Greedily, the Dark Lord absorbed those last morsels of the man's secrets, hopes, fears, and beliefs, and with them tore out and devoured what remained of his life. The influx of energy was as nourishing as it was painful, and the overflow of life the tiny body could not quite handle was partially diverted into its caretaker, the Dark Lord's most capable and loyal servant. As the old wizard died, Riddle's eyes were a bit brighter, his magic a bit closer to full, his flesh a bit healthier. And because the Dark Lord always rewarded those faithful to him, the last hints of the ravages of both the last war and Azkaban faded from the woman entirely.

Hundreds of miles away, in a castle that was both fortress and school, Harry Potter woke with a scream.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"And you're sure Crouch died as Riddle got stronger?" Valeria whispered as she ignored the glares from more than one Gryffindor.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Harry confirmed with a shudder. "The dream was a bit vague at times, but that was clear enough."

"What I do not understand, Potter, is why we're only told about it now if you've had such dreams before... and in the Gryffindor table, of all places." Suffice it to say, Daphne was not amused. If Harry was right - and the Daily Prophet's insinuations aside she had little reason to doubt his sanity or memory - that sounded like serious dark magic... magic Riddle was using to regain his strength. And the stupid... Gryffindor... boy had kept it to himself for weeks!

"C'me ovv 'im will'a?" Ron Weasley said as he stuffed himself full of bacon, eggs, and bread. The tall Slytherin blonde glared at him and decided to recast the forced manners curse however much Tracey begged her not to break the boy. Luckily for his continued survival, the redhead swallowed before continuing. "It's not as if everyone can overhear us with the privacy charms - or even wants to overhear us. Skitter's articles are getting worse." The not-so-covert glares, whispers, and mocking smirks from more than one Gryffindor upperclassman underscored Ron's words; more than half of them were aimed at Harry, and not at the Slytherin girls he'd invited to sit on the Lions' table.

"Ignore them, they're idiots." Harry said darkly and not very convincingly, and Daphne vowed to curse that libellous hag as soon as she got her hands on her. "The dreams are more important. What do you think they mean?"

"We already know what they mean, Harry." Valeria said, stacking sauce, cheese, bacon and bread, and frying them with a deft heating charm. Toast done to perfection - or at least not horribly burned - she took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "Hmm... needs less salt." Then she took out a notebook and wrote at it. Tracey read the words upside-down and rolled her eyes. It read _'research desalination charms'_.

"We know?" Neville blurted what most of them had been thinking. "How can we know? Harry only just shared his dreams with us!"

"They aren't dreams." Valeria said decisively. "Trelawney already taught us how to tell the difference between normal dreams, prophetic dreams, and visions, remember?"

"Yeah, right." Ron scoffed. "As if we have nothing better to do in Divination than listen to that crazy bat."

"Your loss," the short blonde replied with a shrug. "Anyway, these are too detailed for dreams, prophetic or not, so they're some sort of vision. As for their meaning, that should be clear enough, Harry. Remember our second year?"

While Harry had been accused many times of being lazy and wilfully ignorant, often by the three Slytherin girls themselves, he had never been slow. It only took him a moment to make the connection.

"You mean the cursed diary." Scowling now, he went over the details of his dream. "So Riddle was what, absorbing Barty Crouch's life to recover his body and powers? How come he didn't do something like that earlier, then? Drain others to restore himself?"

"Essence Transference is a bit more complicated than that." Valeria said, ignoring Tracey's hiss at the mention of that extremely dark magic. Then she bit into her second attempt at a toast, this time nodding in satisfaction at the taste.

"Wait, you're right." Harry said, his scowl deepening. "It needs a connection, right? Like being given the victim's secrets and beliefs willingly... they have to trust you. Like Quirrel." He very carefully didn't mention Ginny's name despite the secrecy charms.

"I doubt Quirrel really trusted Riddle; he went to him for power, not friendship." Tracey spoke up after she emptied another glass of pumpkin juice. Valeria grimaced in distaste just looking at her drinking it; she far preferred the taste of apples herself.

"And that is probably why he has yet to return." Daphne mused. "Even with trickery, he'd only get a fraction of the benefits and he can't exactly go on a killing spree in his weakened state."

"Yeah, but he has Lestrange." Harry countered, shuddering at everything he'd seen about that woman. "She's... err... pretty devoted to him. How come he doesn't use her?" He tried not to blush or gag at some of the things he hadn't mentioned to his friends regarding his visions.

"You don't sacrifice your Queen at the opening moves of the game, Harry." Ron said sagely, then waited for the right moment before continuing. "Sides, she's probably his girlfriend, or something." Daphne spit the mouthful of butterbeer she'd been about to swallow, and glared at him. Neville copied her expression, except for the gagging. He shot them his most innocent look. Naturally, it failed to convince anyone.

"Gee Weasley, another priceless mental image out of a teenage boy's mind. What would we do without it." Tracey snarked, and Harry tried not to betray his momentary mortification. Fortunately, he succeeded. "I think we should drop the secrecy charms though. Dumbledore is about to give a speech."

They all focused on the great table, where the Headmaster had risen and was clicking his wand against his glass to draw everyone's attention. 

**xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and guests." Albus Dumbledore spoke up with an almost unconscious exertion of his magic. He desired to be heard, and thus he was. "Yet another feast has reached its end, all of us full, and content, and ready for the warmth of our beds. Your evening rest will not be overly delayed; I only request that you listen to an old educator's brief words on a matter pertaining to all three of our schools." His soft, even words carried to the ends of the Great Hall undiminished, drawing everyone's undivided attention. The Triwizard Tournament was something that interested most of them far more than their studies, the rumours about the Boy-Who-Lived, or even the dark tidings of the escaped Death Eaters' movements, after all.

"Many are the qualities that make a great wizard. As many as the qualities that make a great man -or woman- for indeed, they are identical." the aging sorcerer told them solemnly. "It is the second but not less important purpose of the Triwizard Tournament to remind all of us of these qualities, and it is around those qualities that each of the seven tasks have been designed." The murmurs and whispers multiplied in the Great Hall as he paused to give the younger generation an opportunity to digest his words, and take them to heart. He and the other officials in the Tournament had done their best to make them real, and for all that each of them gave more gravity to specific traits, they all of them respected all the qualities that made great wizards and men both. Albus Dumbledore hoped to instil that same understanding to the students before him, but feared all too many of them would just enjoy the competition for competition's sake.

"The first task was about Valour; both courage and prowess in the face of unexpected adversity. Sadly, the world isn't a safe place, and we are all of us called to face obstacles in our path, obstacles that often take us by surprise. We must face them with Valour, be they everyday troubles... or a rampaging dragon." Laughter and cheers followed that proclamation, and he waited for them to fade as they would. Why repress the humour of the young when it made them so much more balanced people? It was often the humourless individuals that caused the greatest problems, both for others and themselves.

"The second task was hidden, not for extra difficulty but because it had to be genuine. It was about Decorum, the proper and polite interaction between individuals, institutions, even countries. Both tradition and relationships are vital to all, necessary for any society. It is when we forget how to interact with people that we answer with blind violence, and it is when we ignore tradition that we damage the society in which we live." And wasn't that the truth! How many problems would be avoided if everyone remembered to be courteous even to his opponents, how much chaos would be limited if everyone who wanted progress equally valued tradition. Decorum held as much merit in the salons of high society as it did in the middle of battle, and for the same reasons.

"Now, we come to the Third Task that for once won't be secret." More cheers and whistles followed this announcement, and Dumbledore answered the students' enthusiasm with a wide smile. "Power is often seen as the foremost as well as the ultimate quality by which wizardkind evaluates its own." Dumbledore sighed quite audibly in the silence that abruptly fell over the Great Hall. That fact was an inescapable part of life, for life was action, life was choice. And power was no more or less than the number of choices in one's grasp. In that at least he agreed with Igor Karkarov, whatever other connotations the former Death Eater tried to assign to it. "But there are many kinds of Power, even when it comes to magic itself." And this is where his and Igor's opinions differed, in the message he wanted to pass to the youngest generations. Fortunately, Amelia Bones' suggestions and Olympie Maxime's agreement to them had prevailed, and even Igor had seen an advantage there.

"One week from tonight, on January the twenty-fourth, the Champions will be called upon to provide three displays of magical power, each in a different magical discipline of their choice. They will have their pick of any subject taught in our three schools, where a wand is used. But they will not be on their own, for there is greater strength in unity than each individual on their own." Once again, even the barest whisper could not be heard from his audience as they waited for his next words. "Each Champion must turn to his or her peers, their fellow students, and convince two of them to aid them in the Third Task without coercion. They should pick those that would help them wisely, for complementary skills will be a great advantage. Each trio of allies will have the twelfth hour of the twenty-fourth of the first month to awe the judges, and each contestant will have to work on one display of their own. No trickery, no secrets, no direct opposition, nothing prepared in advance; the judges will decide solely on how spectacular the magical efforts of the contestants will be in that time."

Naturally, the Great Hall exploded in pandemonium as soon as his speech was done.


	31. Negotiations

**Disclaimer: does Harry ever find out who the other Gryffindor prefects are other than Percy, and later Ron and Hermione, let alone meet any of the non-Quidditch upperclassmen in his House or prefects of other Houses? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me; he belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

That Tuesday afternoon, exactly one week before the Third Task, was one of the calmer moments in the Slytherin common room. The seventh years were almost always more concerned with their upcoming NEWT exams than the usual teenage drama and amateur politics, but for once the usual suspects were minding their own business rather than disturbing the peace. Linda Yaxley, Graham Montague, and their group of sixth-year delinquents were working on a private Potions project rather than baiting the mudbloods and blood-traitors. Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and their hangers-on were too focused on their magical badge creation to carry out their usual vendettas or engage in their favourite pastime of useless whining, something but the OWL and NEWT students could appreciate. The Carrow Twins, Greengrass junior, and the Prewett squib-spawn were keeping the underclassmen busy "testing" a set of Gobstones and several decks of Exploding Snap cards. Last but certainly not least, Campbell, Davis, and Greengrass were keeping their spell practice mostly quiet for once, so everyone could pretend they weren't playing with dangerous magic and everyone could continue to enjoy relative peace and quiet. That kind of truce was sort-of necessary in the Snake Pit and as long as Malfoy didn't start one of his usual tirades and Campbell didn't attempt to blow up anything expensive, the Slytherin Prefects maintained a policy of non-interference.

 _A policy of keeping out of the line of fire, more like_ , Alexandra Shafiq mused as she put in a few final touches to her essay on Arithmantic Prognostication of Multi-spell Interactions. Being chosen as a Prefect by Professor Snape after Gemma Farley's graduation last year had initially seemed like a recognition of both her academic and leadership abilities by her Head of House, and a chance to nurture and guide new generations of Slytherin girls in Lord Slytherin's ideals and qualities for all students of magic. For all that Farley had been a halfblood from a family of Dumbledore sympathizers, Shafiq had respected, even idolized the way the older Prefect had made Slytherin House feel both welcoming and mysterious, and been an authority figure both competent and approachable; she'd been an example of everything Shafiq wanted to be as a Prefect. Unfortunately, Prefects in Slytherin did not have power because they were Prefects. Rather, they became Prefects because they had power and influence to begin with. Despite nominally belonging to one of the older families among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Alexandra Shafiq had been chosen not because of influence and power but, in Professor Snape's own words, 'because everyone else in her year would be even worse'. The Shafiqs did not have the wealth of the Malfoys or the Blacks, the political skill of the Greengrasses or the Selwyns, and Alexandra was more of a highly competent generalist when it came to her studies, than having a remarkable, flashy skill in a single area. For those reasons, and the less favourable age gap between her and troublemakers like Yaxley and Malfoy, all attempts to assert her authority had failed. Things would have been different if the male Prefect in her year had been even a little cooperative but unfortunately, Argo Pyrites had other ideas.

A pampered scion from a family of rumoured but never convicted Death Eaters, the tall, handsome boy was a troublemaker and a bigot himself. More than a little cowardly and greedy, he was more of an enabler for Yaxley's and Malfoy's schemes than an instigator, but lately he'd been growing steadily worse - on purpose. Perhaps Alexandra should have considered the ramifications of rejecting his Hogsmeade invite more thoroughly... or maybe not. Character-wise Pyrites was a troll; call her undiplomatic, but Alexandra absolutely refused to consider any relationship with him, even at the cost of deliberately increased mayhem.

"Say Lexie, how about this weekend then?" Case in point, that hated nickname. That he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as he butchered her noble name only made things worse. "Diggory's too busy with the next task, Jones is helping him, Johnson and Towler are riding herd in the Lions' madhouse, everyone else has patrols, and the Ravens are too prudish for the bath. Fancy a bit of... swimming?"

"Could you be any more crass?" she shot back with a glower - not that it made a difference. "The answer is still no!"

"Your loss, babe." Alexandra went red in anger, definitely anger. For Merlin's sake, would it kill him to speak properly? He acted more like a muggle or a Gryffindor than the Pureblood he was! And not only that, but he covertly drew his wand and, to her horror, pointed it towards Campbell of all people! Before she could block him, he sent a Stinging Hex not at the mudblood prodigy but at the dancing orb of fire she'd been casting spells at for the past fifteen minutes. The delicate balance of magical forces the animated flame apparently depended on was disrupted, and the orb exploded, taking the peace of the common room with it.

Several orbs of fire, just as large as the original, flew through the air and smashed into things. One bumped into Alexandra's first layer of anti-Campbell measures all Prefects kept up these days, the maintained Protego shield blocking its path. Instead of being simply deflected or absorbed, the orb multiplied. So did the one smashing into the wall above the fireplace, and the one falling into Yaxley's lap. Unlike the wall, the sixth-year girl yelped and threw a Finite at the nearest ball of fire. It worked no better than the Shield Charm had, its target multiplying... as did every other flaming sphere in the room.

"Of all the asinine, dunderheaded, downright dangerous things to do..." she growled as she drew her own wand, then kicked Pyrites off his chair and into the middle of the room, where he was beset by no less than a dozen spheres. If the idiot wanted to cause some chaos, he might as well help deal with the consequences.

 _Sonorous!_

"EVERYONE CAST FLAME FREEZING CHARMS!" her amplified voice boomed, and for once the upperclassmen followed her orders just fine. It wouldn't be the first time Campbell played with fire magic, and unless true cursed fire had been unleashed, the standard containment procedure should work. If only everyone actually followed the procedure, that was.

 _Aguamenti! Aguamenti! Aguamenti! Aguamenti! Aguamenti!_

"Lexie! Help!" Pyrites was frantically throwing around water-making spells, and he wasn't the only one. Unfortunately, they seemed to have no effect whatsoever on the rapidly multiplying spheres of fire, other than producing more and more steam and limiting visibility, thus adding to the chaos. Most of the underclassmen had taken cover, except for Prewett who was shooting bolts of darkness out of her wand, and Malfoy's contingent, who had raised a credible layered shield and were throwing around Reductors like candy. Both tactics seemed to work, but only on a single flaming sphere at a time, and Crabbe and Goyle's horrible aim meant that sooner or later a stray curse might kill someone by accident, or drill a hole to one of the lake-side windows and drown them all.

 _PROTEGO TOTALUM!_

The incantation of the Advanced Shield Charm not only formed a dome of force over Malfoy and his gang, but drew attention, and provided a good example to everyone in the common room. She repeated it a couple of times, isolating Pyrites and herself, plus the contingent of first and second years. The few flaming spheres trapped inside the shields kept multiplying, but now they could defeat the threat in detail before they had to deal with the main group. IF they could, that was; there were several hundred of the things by now.

 _Finite Incantantem!_

Suddenly, the madness abated and relative calm returned as every flaming sphere but one vanished without trace. Campbell walked across the mildly scorched common room - the flame freezing spells had managed to protect most of the furniture and occupants - and picked up the last sphere in one hand while casting silent repair charms with the other. Everyone exhaled in relief... and then the bickering and accusations started.

SILENCE!

The Sonorous charm was a very effective tool in a Prefect's arsenal, Alexandra thought smugly, as every single protest, whine, and grumble was drowned out by her booming voice. Once dissent had been quashed, she dismissed the spell with a non-verbal Quietus and addressed the throng.

"Third years and below, go to your room until this debacle is dealt with. Fourth years and above, you're on the repair detail. Anyone suffering burns can be treated by Greengrass and Campbell - don't complain, Greengrass, I know you know some Healing and your girlfriend has her own supply of Burn paste if needed. Pyrites, report to Professor Snape; I'm giving you twelve hours of detention for stupidity."

"What?!"

"If you feel I'm being too harsh," here she showed the idiot her teeth "feel free to explain to our Head of House exactly what happened. Not that he won't know anyway - it's just better to deal with this in-house." Argo was not entirely stupid; he retreated without another word.

"Right. Campbell, get your arse over here." Sometimes, a bit of profanity went a long way and as she saw the shorter blonde girl strolling closer, it was all that kept her from hexing the mudblood to bits. That and not knowing whether she could take her in a fight.

"'sup, Shafiq?" the diminutive menace chirped, grating on her nerves. That she still had not dispelled that flaming sphere only added to Alexandra's blood pressure.

"I am going to say this plainly, so your little mudblood brain can process it through all the crazy." And the Dumbledore worshippers said pureblood inbreeding caused mental problems? Please. "The next time you cast any harmful magic that can proliferate inside the Slytherin common room, I'll sign you up as a permanent tutor to Crabbe and Goyle, understand? If you must experiment with cursed fire, or whatever other madness you come up with, take it to the Lions' Tower so at least some good will come of it, understand?" Then at least it would not be up to her to fix things when the experiment invariably blew up spectacularly. Hell, they might even have fewer Weasleys to deal with in the future, if everything went well.

"Sure thing, Shafiq," the younger witch said with a shrug and turned to go. "Don't turn your knickers in a twist; as long as you control your boyfriend, there should be no problems."

Why that little...! No, calm! Calm! If everything went well, she'd only had to deal with such idiocy this year. If her plan worked - and she saw no reason why it shouldn't - soon Campbell would have to deal with disasters like this one from the other end... and have far less time to cause her unusual brand of mayhem. The only thing left to do was convince Professor Snape making Campbell a Prefect would be better than the alternative.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"No, Potter."

Harry looked up at the dark-skinned girl with the long, dark curls, and frowned in consternation. Angelina had always been supportive, if a bit distant, as far back as he could remember. Even in his first year, when he'd joined the Quidditch team as reserve Seeker, the older girl had given him better and more useful general advice than Wood's endless drills and tactics lessons, or the Twins' funny anecdotes about the Slytherins' lack of talent, or the occasional friendly ribbing. So why now, that he really wanted help...

"But... but I need help in this task!" he exclaimed, panic rising at his fifth rejection in a row. "And I thought... you wanted to compete, didn't you?"

"Boys!" Alicia Spinnet grumbled in obvious disgust from a nearby table. "You have even less tact than the Twins, Potter!" In contrast, several expressions vied for dominance on Angelina's face, anger and pity the two more prevalent.

"Harry, you do realize your being picked as a Champion has upset some people, right?" the dark-skinned Chaser finally said, lips tight in barely controlled annoyance.

"I did not put my name in the Cup!" he protested, not for the first time. Not even the hundredth. "And I thought... I thought you were happy at least a Gryffindor would compete."

"I never said you did, Harry." She sighed, anger and annoyance draining away. "Look, even if you didn't put your name in the cup, even if you had nothing to do with it, lots of people are still disappointed with the situation, OK?" She did not have to add that she was one of them. "I was happy for the Gryffindor representation. Losing a once-in-a-lifetime chance? Not so much. Who says that any tampering done to force your participation didn't mess up the selection for everyone else too?" Personally, Harry did not think it did, but he could not be sure... and neither could he fault Angelina for believing so, deep down. "And now, given even a small chance to compete, lots of people would jump at it, OK?"

"Yeah, so why not join my team?" Harry almost pleaded now. After the Twins had admitted their pranks relied more on preparation and potions than big and flashy magic, he was not sure where he'd find the two extra participants he needed. He had almost no contact with any of the upperclassmen in Gryffindor that weren't Weasleys or on the Quidditch team, and the one Prefect he'd asked - one Kenneth Towler - had flat out rejected him. The studious, surprisingly Percy-like older boy had had a vendetta with the Twins and all their friends ever since one of their pranks in their OWL year had prevented him from taking his Transfiguration exam. As for the other Houses, Hufflepuff would support Cedric obviously, Slytherin had always been anti-Gryffindor, and not only he'd never interacted with the Ravens, but most of them believed Rita Skeeter's libellous articles.

"It took you three days to ask me for help, Harry." Angelina said, her cheeks darkening in embarrassment. "I didn't think you wanted my help so when... when Diggory asked..."

"Diggory?" Oh... so that's what this was, then? Almost deflating in his disappointment, he turned around and left. No point asking Alicia or Katie if Angelina was in Diggory's team; they wouldn't want to compete against their friend, and Harry didn't want to make things hard for them. He left the Gryffindor common room behind, climbing up to his dormitory with a heavy heart.

"How did it go, mate?" Ron asked eagerly as Harry collapsed on his bed, his head pounding from all the furious thinking he'd been doing the past few days.

"That bad, huh?" Ron said sagely, chewing the end of his quill. "Look, we knew it'd be bad. Diggory's popular and Skeeter's article..."

"Paints me as a confused, easily controlled idiot?" Harry moaned. "What am I going to do? The task's in six days and I've yet to find partners!"

"You work on your Patronus and keep looking." Ron said with conviction, causing Harry to stare at him funny. This didn't sound much like Ron.

"My Patronus?"

"What else are you gonna use, mate? Know many people who can cast a Patronus strong enough to repel a hundred Dementors?"

"That was a fluke!" Harry protested half-heartedly. "I dunno if I can cast it before the judges and everyone else."

"That's just lack of confidence speaking, mate." Ron said with a shrug. "We both know you can do it, and I got a plan to make you more confident. Speaking of which, you need partners..."

"No, really?" Harry snarked, then fell back down on his bed. This was horrible - way worse than the Task with the dragons! What if he couldn't find anyone to help him?

"...which is why I've already found you some."

"That's nice Ron, but the task needs three contes... wait, what?!" He leaped off his bed, his total confusion meeting Ron's satisfied smile.

"Sure. The girls are not exactly pushovers when it comes to magic, right?" That thought had crossed Harry's mind, but they were only fourth years like him. Even if he asked them and they said yes, could they prepare in the remaining time? He said so, and only became more confused when Ron's smile widened.

"That's exactly what I thought as soon as the task got announced. So I contacted them immediately and they agreed with my plan." His friend shrugged again. "If you found someone better, no problem. But if you didn't, they'd already be preparing the whole time, and we know you work well together. Let the other Champions waste time trying to build a good team and work on a project - I bet the girls have been working on some nifty magic for ages, and you've known how to cast a corporeal Patronus for months. Plus, they did help you cast it last time."

"I doubt we're allowed to enhance ourselves with Potions, Ron." Harry said, but when he really thought about it, the rest wasn't a bad plan.

"I wasn't thinking about Potions, mate." Ron shot him a strange smirk Harry failed to decipher.

"How will they help, then?" Harry asked, getting his friend to groan in exasperation.

"Tracey's right; you're totally hopeless, mate."


	32. Expect the Unexpected

**Expect the Unexpected**

The only full wizarding village in Britain is built above the permanent snow line. Muggleborns, Tracey's mother included, are often confused by that as Scotland is not known to have any locations with permanent snow and ice. Pure-blooded children, having imperfect knowledge of Muggle geography and even less inclination to believe its findings, take the perpetual snowfall in stride; besides, Honeydukes' chocolates are far more interesting. As usual, the truth was hidden somewhere between those two positions and missed by both, Tracey mused idly as she and Daphne stood waiting that Saturday morning. Wrapped up in Hot-Air Charms, the two girls could ignore the freezing temperatures despite their flimsy - but expensive and elaborate - dress robes despite old Hengist's Atmospheric Charm modifying the weather. There was the wizarding mindset in a nutshell; make it snow permanently because snowball fights are awesome, and if anyone's feeling cold they could always warm themselves. Tracey rolled her eyes at the muggleborn third and fourth years as they stumbled around wrapped up in insulating layers of cloth like mummies, and quashed the urge to teach them the Hot-Air Charm. If they didn't learn to rely on magic themselves, they'd never become true witches and wizards.

"Ow! Why, you little hellion!" Daphne exclaimed almost fondly, a flick of her wand and a muttered Episkey! repairing the fingers her new pet had bitten. "I'm not giving you chocolate! You'll grow too fat to fly and then I'll have to carry you all the time." A plaintive growl followed those words, then a baby-like cooing that sounded more pathetic than demanding. Tracey snickered.

"I fail to see how that's a real deterrent." Tracey interjected, smirk widening. "You're already carrying her everywhere."

"Don't I know it!" the tall blonde sighed in exasperation as a tiny scaled snout was lost in the silver waterfall of her hair, rumbling like a cat. A winged body tried to follow, but there wasn't quite enough space and a little tug-of-war between witch and winged menace begun. "A bit of help here? It's trying to bite my ear off!" the pureblood heiress squeaked and Tracey drew her wand while trying to suppress her giggles.

 _Relashio!_

"You know Daphne," Tracey said as witch and miniature dragon were flung away from each other, "I never took you for a Magizoology enthusiast. You didn't even sign up for the class and now look at you; tackling miniature dragon models with abandon. What's next, handling Blast-Ended Skrewts? Riding into the sunset in the back of a hippogryph in the company of a certain Gryffindor?"

"You're one to talk!" her friend protested in far too high a pitch to be entirely believable. "That many private sessions with Hagrid, one wonders when you'll announce your engagement."

"Oh please! He's far too besotted with the Beauxbatons' headmistress." Tracey deflected, not being bothered by the snide remark in the slightest. If growing up in pureblood circles had taught her anything was that you had to take the cattiness in stride. It was practically bred into all purebloods, even those as level-headed and logical as Daphne usually was. Besides, there were extenuating circumstances.

"Hmf. At least the half-giant got one thing right." Daphne begun playing with the miniature fire-breathing lizard again. "Dragons are kind of cute." Tracey didn't point out the blonde's opinion had changed radically the very day Harry had given her the miniature dragon as a gift; that would have been plain mean. "Say Trace, are you meeting someone too?"

"As a matter of fact, I am!" the brunette half-blood admitted truthfully - and deceptively. "I just didn't want to leave you waiting on your own." Now that was a complete fabrication. It did make for a good excuse to hang around until the right moment, and if the pair of figures coming out of one of the Thestral-pulled carriages was an indication...

"You're a great friend, Tracey, but you don't have to. I mean..." For all that Daphne remained as solemn and confident as she usually was, there was a touch of pink on her cheeks and a quarter-second's hesitation in her speech that would have been a wordless, all-too-embarrassing blush on most other girls.

"Hey, no problem. I can already see Harry coming, anyway." Tracey waved goodbye as she stepped back, but she doubted her friend ever saw it. The Slytherin Princess was far too focused on her date's imminent arrival.

The quietest Slytherin in her year looked around as she walked away, mentally pushing at the attention of anyone looking her way. A good Legilimens could capture the attention of another with a brief stare, and force them to subconsciously think about specific things - memories, ideas, thoughts they wanted to hide. Ensnaring attention and directing thought could be done with words of course, but sheer presence backed by magic would work even better. It certainly did for Professor Snape, Headmaster Dumbledore, and other masters of the Mind Arts to the point that they became the focus of every gathering they were in in a way that could not be ignored. Tracey's need to hide from her cousins and uncles from a very young age led to her inadvertently stumbling in an inversion of the technique. By pushing attention away, any observer's thoughts tended to shift to ideas that didn't involve a certain half-blood mongrel they wanted to beat up for the crime of being born to a muggleborn mother... even when Tracey was standing in plain sight. She was thus ignored, remaining invisible much like House Elves did even as they went around their masters' business.

It was far from a perfect way of hiding. A sufficiently strong mind fixated on her would not be diverted; she'd never been able to hide from her grandfather, or Professor Snape. Plus, it only worked to hide her when others were close and aware of her at some level; it wouldn't divert plots and traps set in motion remotely. But it had still helped her survive - at a cost. If she had not made several good friends that tended to put themselves straight in the middle of the action despite her advice to the contrary, she'd probably have remained a nobody in Slytherin for all her years, her fellow students not even remembering her name - something that would have once suited her just fine. Getting involved with Harry Potter's particular strain of madness had changed all that. Being out in the world, doing things that mattered, it was exhilarating despite - and sometimes because of - all the risks.

Still, it paid being careful, especially in these dangerous times; with a murmured incantation she tapped herself in the head and waited while the wave of phantom cold trickled down her back. Her disillusionment was by no means perfect, but it was better than Campbell's, and miles ahead of everyone else's. Thus concealed and deflecting attention, she waited while Daphne met up with two Gryffindors, one dark-haired and one red-headed. She winced at her friend's expense when a rather awkward non-argument broke out; obviously Weasley was too thick to make an excuse to leave the lovebirds alone. Well, not alone; they had the miniature dragon.

In the end, Ron broke off and headed towards the small thicket next to the Shrieking Shack. They boy's attempts at stealth made Tracey wince again. For all that this whole debacle had been his brainchild, Weasley seemed incapable of remaining quiet and unnoticed. It took Tracey a minute to realize she was looking at the boy with the same fond exasperation as Daphne did at the mini-Horntail, which caused her to gag. The day she discovered any actual feelings towards the abrasive Gryffindor would be the day she volunteered (or maybe volunteered him) for Val's experiments. Their group would need something bigger than rat inferi in the coming war, after all.

"Did you bring it?" she asked, causing Ron to jump at least a yard and almost drop his wand.

"Tracey?" He looked around but naturally failed to notice her. "Is that you?"

"Who else would it be, Weasley?" she growled as she tapped him with her wand, Disillusioning him as well. "Now did. You. Bring. The. Map!"

"Sure!" he said rather dubiously under the cover of magical concealment. "But how are we going to read it if it's invisible?"

"There are several spells that can help," she said. She'd been researching them ever since she'd become aware of Harry's Cloak and was... almost certain she could cast a few. "Now bring it out; we need to see when Malfoy and his cronies will leave the castle."

"I still don't think they'll lead us to the target," the Gryffindor boy mentioned morosely but then laughed. "But hey, pranking them is gonna be awesome. This is almost like wearing Harry's Cloak."

"Which you should have borrowed for this!" Tracey hissed as he accidentally stepped on her feet. "Harry's your best friend; he wouldn't have said 'no'."

"Harry's my best friend," he countered "I am not going to borrow his invisibility cloak so we can spy on him and Daphne. Even if it's for their own good."

"Great." Tracey said, taking the lead. "I now know who to blame if we fail to find Skeeter and how she keeps entering the castle."

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The fourth floor corridor is the highest level in Hogwarts Castle that all major buildings are still interconnected. It is also one of the most heavily trafficked corridors for all four houses since it leads to the Owlery in its western end, a part of Hogwarts all students frequently visit - or at least those in good standing with their parents. It occurred to one fourth-year Slytherin girl as she was counting windows from the Owlery entrance that she'd failed to send her parents any actual letters for some time now. In fact, she tended to talk to her brother Claude via two-way mirror every time she tried to discover how the mirrors actually worked, but both she and her parents seemed to be too busy in their respective fields to communicate more than once per couple of months. That realization made Valeria pause in her count, and truly consider how much she'd distanced herself from her family. Was it because magic was so fascinating she thought of little else? Was it because of Voldemort's threat looming in the near-future and she wanted to protect them by staying away, however silly the idea sounded now that she thought about it? Was she simply a less than loving daughter? The possibility was unsettling, especially for only occurring to her after so long. She resolved to do something nice for her family, something important and meaningful, however little time was left till the next task. And she was going to the right place for just such a thing.

 _Eleven... twelve... thirteen... here we are..._

Of course, after counting thirteen windows to the East of the Owlery, she remembered she had to climb to the seventh floor. With a groan, Valeria cursed Daphne for finally convincing her to improve her fitness level above 'couch potato' and climbed up several more flights of stairs with some difficulty. She was tempted to cheat and make the climb that much easier, but the more she cheated, the longer her exercise would ultimately take. Not wanting to waste any time actually exercising except for her daily duels, she'd turned to magic. Exercise equipment, free weights, morning runs; those were for muggles. High-g broom flights were for Quidditch nuts like Harry and the Weasleys. As a real witch, she'd cast a mild Lead-weight Charm on herself and went about her day. Hypergravity training was more efficient than normal exercise in many ways... if only it didn't make climbing from the dungeons to the seventh floor so hard!

"Enter!" cried a high-pitched voice after she'd knocked on the heavy wooden door she'd been looking for. Before she could open it, someone else did from the inside, and she found herself face to face with Cedric Diggory. The tall, too-handsome Prefect raised an eyebrow in question even as he gave her a roguish smile, and Valeria barely held back a sigh as she straightened her robe. So she didn't like wrinkled robes, big deal! It had nothing to do with Diggory being the most good-looking boy in Hogwarts... OK, it had everything to do with that. Staring was still her right, even if she no longer considered him a viable partner - the Yule Ball experiment had conclusively proven as much. Disgustingly noble and painfully naive, Cedric would dislike the real her even more than she cringed at the real him and... wait, Diggory was trying to tell her something.

"...meet me at the entrance to the dungeons, OK?" he said as he glanced at the room's occupant behind him worriedly, the better to announce they were discussing something clandestine. Hufflepuffs. "We need to..."

"I know, Cedric!" she huffed then stepped aside, a clear sign for him to be going since he obviously didn't want to say anything at that time and place.

"Oh." He smiled sheepishly - even that was unfairly cute - and waved before leaving. "See you, then." Valeria almost deflated as he walked away, reconsidering what she was doing and why. Harry and now Cedric. Boys would be the death of her.

"Come in, Miss Campbell!" a cheerful alto greeted her from within. "I dare say you've stood in my office's door considering matters of weight quite long enough."

"Good morning, Professor Flitwick!" she greeted the diminutive part-goblin who had so helped her with her magic earlier in her Hogwarts education.

The office of Hogwarts' resident Charms Master was both simple and elegant. A single desk at the center, surrounded by a large bookcase to the left, portraits and odd artifacts lining the wall behind it, a wardrobe and fireplace separating the office proper from the Professor's sleeping quarters. Everything was neatly arranged, in bright primary colours matching Flitwick's cheerful personality. And with him being half as tall as the average adult, all his personal effects were shrunk down to take an eight of the space. The library might seem small for example, but with each normally massive tome being shrunk down to the size of a small diary, it could contain literally thousands of books while not appearing overwhelming. Valeria had visited once before, and the library alone had inspired her to keep her own shrunk book collection.

"Good morning, Miss Campbell." Flitwick was sitting in a comfortable armchair and desk sized for his stature for once, the usual clutter evident in other Professors' personal quarters entirely absent from his own. The desk itself looked empty, two small boxes, a notebook, and a self-inking pen the only things on it. Appearances however could be deceiving, an age-old proverb the Charms Master confirmed by idly flicking his wand and causing a pea-sized armchair to leap out of the first box and rapidly expand in mid-leap, then turn around and face the desk as soon as it touched the floor in a Valeria-appropriate size. "Allow me to offer you a seat so you can, like Mister Diggory before you, request my help in the upcoming Tournament task." He smiled indulgently as the Slytherin witch nodded and took her seat.

Her appreciation for Flitwick's skills rose a notch as soon as she felt the armchair shifting in size, shape, and texture to match per preferences exactly. Providing a seat through Charms might be a bit more complicated than simply conjuring one for every visitor, but it did make for superior results as long as the individual spells on it were bound to an intent-based enchantment that read the visitor's preferences - and even Professor Dumbledore might be hard-pressed to match the final quality solely with Conjuration. She wondered whether absconding with the armchair for reverse-engineering purposes was a possibility, and immediately sensed a faint crackling of magical power not only from the furniture, but practically everything in the room. She'd only felt a similar hum of magically-charged atmosphere in Olivanders' shop and Headmaster Dumbledore's office and wondered just how many intent-keyed spells were there in this one small room, and how complex was their programming. No wonder Flitwick's office had never revealed any dedicated security spells to her previous probes. If everything in it could resize, move on its own, had durability spells on it, and would respond to any occupants' intent appropriately... one could probably put a Death Eater in it and expect to be as securely held as in Azkaban.

"Ah, so you did notice my little hobby." Flitwick spoke, satisfaction in his voice. "Not many do, and I wasn't sure you had in our last session here. How is your magic, by the way?" The second box on his desk opened seemingly on its own accord, and a small pile of sweets flew out, rapidly growing to normal size even as they took up a complicated dance - eastern European ballet, unless Valeria missed her guess. "Cupcake, my dear?"

"Yes, thank you." She wondered if the Professor's cupcakes were normally tiny-sized and were engorged to reduce expenses and the Ravenclaws' sugar intake, or merely shrunk to fit their tin container. A few bites convinced her that the answer didn't really matter; they were delicious either way. "My magic... as long as I concentrate most spells turn out OK now, except for really delicate work and Transfiguration. If I don't..."

"Things go boom?" the Charms Master suggested and they both laughed. "Not to worry, not to worry, volatile magic is perfectly natural for certain personalities. The tendency to accidents might never truly leave you, though you could turn them more towards humorous incidents than something to worry about with the right frame of mind." Valeria wondered if Professor Flitwick spoke from experience; his past as a Duelling Champion and his ever-cheerful demeanour had always seemed odd to her. But that was neither here or there.

"Professor, about the Tournament..."

"Ah yes, the Tournament." Flitwick fell silent then, the solemn cast that fell on his features clashing oddly with his usual cheerfulness. "There was a controversial revival attempt back when I was a student, you know. It didn't go well. In fact, I recall the papers calling it the 'Doomspell Tournament', they did." He smiled again, but it was a little bit forced, as if the weight of the memories had stolen some of his good humours. "As I said to Mister Diggory before you, I am willing to help to the extent I am able... but the terms of the contract prevent Champions from receiving help in most ways."

"Help... Professor, Harry doesn't even know the Tournament rules! Does that seem logical to you?"

"Funny you should mention that." Flitwick chuckled. "The Ministry will deny this Miss Campbell, and you did not hear it from me, but the issue with the rules is their fault. It appears they decided the complete rulebook would be given to Champions after they were chosen for security and fair play purposes. A commendable choice, if not for one little fact; knowing the rules is immensely and undeniably _helpful_ in any competition, and as the Champions were intent-bound not to receive adult help and the organizers were bound not to give it as soon as said Champions were chosen..." the part-goblin paused to give an eloquent shrug "Whoops?"

The muggleborn Slytherin waited for the Professor to tell her that was a bad joke. When he did not, she face-palmed and groaned in exasperation.

"Amazing how incompetent our government can be, isn't it?" the Charms Master nodded sagely and chuckled again. "Now, while the Goblet of Fire is absolutely draconian in enforcing its restrictions, the intent-based enchantments upon it do have certain loopholes. One of them was exploited to force participation, as Mister Potter certainly knows. Another involves the normal duties of the organizers' positions. Back when the Goblet was forged it was decided that expecting Champions to lose an entire year of education would be unfair. What this means is that I can still teach Mister Potter and any other participants in my position as an educator. As long as it pertains to my duties as Hogwarts' Charms Master, the Goblet will take it as teaching and not rule-breaking help... as long as I do not intend it as help specifically."

"This is becoming rather complicated." Valeria sighed. "How come nobody decided to make like Alexander with the Gordian Knot and... dissolved the contract by judicious application of, say, Fiendfyre?"

"Miss Campbell!" Flitwick exclaimed in mock indignant voice. "You aren't actually suggesting the use of class-seven Dark Magic on an invaluable piece of wizarding tradition, not to mention Ministry property, are you?"

"Err... not really?"

"Good." The diminutive wizard rested his chin on his fingers and looked up at his student. Realization struck Valeria for a second time that day; sometime in the last few months she must have had a growth spurt, for she had finally surpassed one of the faculty members in height. One down, seventeen more to go, though she was not holding to hope what with being at least three or four inches shorter than average for her age. "Now, anything I can do for you within the limits of my academic identity?"

"Certainly, Professor." Valeria said, her plans shifting to account for the new information. "If you would write a permission slip for a pair of Re-visibility Specs and the Invisible Book of Invisibility for Madam Pince?"

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The Ministry of Magic has done much to control magic it does not want the wizard in the street to know. From laws prohibiting the use of spells such as Expansion and Atmospheric Charms, to classifying many spells as Dark Magic whether they are or not, to controlling what books are published and where. The Invisible Book of Invisibility was a novel approach, lumping various spells of invisibility along with spells that see through or manipulate invisibility under a single tome, and then making it invisible. Unless you already know a revealing spell you can't read the book, and said revealing spell can only be learned from either the invisible book, or an instructor that already knows it. Ending the enchantment doesn't work because the book is actually blank; its contents are also illusions rather than being written with ink. General counterspells and revealing magic will end or see through both the concealment and the contents. Naturally, it only took an enterprising and not very law-abiding wizard a few months to invent the Re-visibility Specs, glasses that allowed the caster to see through common forms of invisibility.

Valeria was annoyed because despite her search, she had not managed to obtain a pair of illegal Specs, so her own copy of the book had been useless for over two years now. Admittedly, the Ministry's restriction was more about limiting invisibility enchantments that were sold to unqualified wizards or even criminals through the registration of everyone who actually knew how to cast them; that they were taught in seventh year Advanced Charms along with memory-modification was proof enough of that. Having to wait three more bloody years and being put on a watchlist though was something Valeria Campbell found unacceptable - and as usual ignored, law or not. Now with the shrunken book and specs in her purse, she descended the stairs to the dungeons with a spring in her step for her meeting with Cedric Diggory.

"Hi, Cedric!" she greeted him, not bothering to hide her reaction. Why should she? It wasn't as if Diggory had a Ron-level inability to acknowledge his appearance might affect a portion of the population or a Harry-level awkwardness when having a conversation with them.

"Hey, Campbell." Cedric nodded a bit more formally than she'd have expected. Hmm... he probably had something serious to discuss. "You know, what you asked me about the Tournament. I am not sure -" But Valeria never learned what Cedric was uncertain about because at that exact moment, some very unpleasant company interrupted their conversation. Draco Malfoy arrived hand-in-hand with Pansy Parkinson, the Yaxley bitch following them along with Quidditch Captain Graham Montague - not that that title mattered much that year with the games cancelled - Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle bringing up the rear. Not, Zabini and Moon were not in evidence, but that minor reprieve was balanced out by everyone in the group wearing those annoyingly attention-grabbing badges of Malfoy's.

"Did I hear correctly, Campbell? You're helping Diggory in the Tournament?" Pansy demanded, intentionally misinterpreting the situation as she took the lead. A year ago, Valeria would not have realized why Malfoy was content to sit back and let someone else speak for him, but Daphne and Tracey had finally managed to hammer some social maneuvering into her. Parkinson was a girl and Diggory was a pureblood gentleman. As much as he might disagree with her, he wouldn't speak up unless she broke school rules - at which point he'd only act as a Prefect; anything else simply wouldn't be proper.

"Gee Parkinson, are you sure you shouldn't ask Madam Pomfrey to fix your ears?" she retorted as she distanced herself from the Hufflepuff Champion. "Because you seem to be hearing things."

"Whatever." Pansy deflected. "I might warn Potter about your colluding with a competitor, but he has no chance of winning in any case. And he seemed to be so happy with you and Greengrass joining his team."

"Of course he's at a disadvantage you dimwit!" she growled, anger rising. "He was unfairly forced to participate in a lethal competition with over two years less training than he should have had!"

"So you claim." Parkinson said darkly, and Malfoy sneered. The blond dandy's superior expression made Valeria want to curse him then and there. "Then again, this might just be an excuse to cover up for his incompetence - or yours." And with that parting remark, the Bully Brigade marched off, the corridor echoing with their laughter. Bastards! What she wouldn't give to show them once and for all...

"You aren't going to fall for that transparent attempt to rile you up, are you?" Diggory asked, jolting her out of her train of thought. "It was merely meant to annoy and distract, you know."

"I do." The muggleborn Slytherin sighed and leaned against the cold stone of the nearest dungeon wall. "Problem is, that does not make what Parkinson said any less plausible... any less believed by the majority of the school."

"True, yet irrelevant." Cedric noted with a nod.

"Irrelevant?"

"What is not part of the solution is part of the problem." He shrugged. "Brooding about it won't help, and it makes one look ugly to boot. What are you going to _do_ about it?"

"Do about it? I dunno..." She thought about it. Then thought some more. For all that he also had to prepare for the task, Diggory helpfully remained by her side in encouraging silence. "You know Cedric, I don't think I'll help Harry merely survive, just for this one task."

"Well..." the older boy mused "...that's a relief, actually."

"Really?" She looked up at the old boy critically, noticing - not for the first time - just how tall he was compared to her. "I thought you wanted to win, for the glory of Hufflepuff and all."

"Sure. But what glory would that be if one of my friends undermines another Champion so I could win?" He smiled widely. "Besides, you and Harry are two years my junior. If I can't beat you fairly, do I deserve victory?"

"Gaah, you Hufflepuffs are so terribly naive." She pushed him off, or rather tried. He wasn't exactly small. "Go and prepare your best spells, Pretty Boy. You'll need them!"

"It's on, Short Stuff!" he retorted, and vanished around the corner before she could curse him. Quite underhanded - for a Hufflepuff. Valeria pushed off the wall, moved in a dark alcove a few dozen feet over, and made sure nobody was watching, student, ghost, or portrait. Then she concealed and Disillusioned herself, and searched her purse for a particular potion.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"...layering the Coldfire rather than tying it should alter the Arithmantic formula for the interaction... joined but fundamentally divided?" No answer was given to the woman's question, but this did not stop the one-sided conversation from continuing.

"Yes, yes, the elemental is akin to the physical and as such can be split and knotted, if with a corresponding reduction to duration." The tone was rather familiar even in the strange haze he found himself in, and he had to swallow the urge to reprimand the woman for some reason. Now was not the time. "What I want to know is your opinion on the result once all components are applied."

"What do you mean I lack the power? I'm what, two years younger than you were when you applied permanently magic that makes this look like a first year's sparks?" He ignored the voice for a moment and looked around. He was in the depths of a dark, dank, vast cavern, the end of which someone had turned into a fairly advanced lab. A ceiling of roughly hewn rock with little in the way of tool-marks and even less natural rock formations hung at least forty feet overhead, walls of equally worn and pitted marble standing fifty, maybe sixty feet from each other making up the rest. He couldn't see the floor from where he was and straining to gaze directly overhead revealed flat rock as the cavern abruptly ended, with most of it taken up by floating crucibles, mirrors, dark detectors, and other artifacts. Some of those were somehow familiar, as was the short blonde witch arguing with what looked like a vast mirror taking up much of the wall.

 _"Perhaps. But I was... exceptional. I have, after all, gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality..."_ The words that appeared inside the massive mirror upon the reflection of a titanic piece of exceptionally fine, bone-white parchment shocked him to the bone. They were words he had heard before, if only once. Seeing them now... something was very, very wrong. He frantically tried to move... and found out he could not.

"Perhaps" the woman's voice allowed, more amused than cowed - and that shocked him even more. "Tell me Tom, did you ever read the Lord of the Rings, by a certain squib author?" The blonde's words were also written inside the mirror, though they did not simply appear as if scribed down by the unseen hand of a god. She made do with the reflection of a massive pen, that simply wrote as she spoke upon the reflection of parchment. Moments later, both her words and His were gone, as if they never had been.

 _"How did you know?"_ He asked, and the woman snorted in amusement. For her sake, the pen did not transcribe it - which angered him. How dare anyone mock Him, if only for a moment.

"One of these days, Tom, you will explain in detail how you came up with the idea of a Horcrux. I suspect the answer will disappoint, yet amuse me." He must have made some sort of sound in his outrage, for she turned around to look at him. Not a woman, but a teenage girl. One he knew and held in contempt for her mudblood status, yet one who conversed thus with his Lord; thus his confusion became complete.

"We shall finish this later, Tom; one of my guests has awakened." With a wave of her hand, Campbell bade the communication mirror blank, then approached the table upon which he'd been bound.

"Awake again, Barty Crouch? Or should I call you Professor Fake?" She walked around the desk once, perhaps checking whatever magic held him in place. "How are you feeling? Not very uncomfortable, I hope?"

"I... have nothing... to say to you... Campbell." He spat back. His voice sounded like grating sandpaper, as if his throat had been injured or as if he had not used it for a very long time.

"And yet you just did. Hmm, still dehydrated. IMPERIO!" The weight of the mudblood's imperius curse pressed on his mind not like the feeble casting of a teenager on her first foray into the Dark Arts or that of a mudblood weakling that would amount to nothing, but almost with the same kind of power if not quite the finesse employed by his own father! He would throw it off eventually, but for a few minutes he couldn't help it but listen to Campbell's insidious commands, lost in the Nirvana of being under another's control. He drank from the offered cup without protest as she held it up to his mouth, not even registering the taste - if any, then thanked his captor with sincerity. Then the curse was lifted and reality came crashing back.

"Tell me, Professor. Have I been a diligent student?" she asked, her voice echoing like a crystal bell. It was beautiful, undeniable... and what reason did he even have to deny her?

"You had the greatest potential of all my students, my dear. To see you realise it so soon... it's incredible." he hesitated, but honesty and integrity bade him finish. "Except for Potter. Loath as I am to admit it, the half-blood has power, will, and talent for the physical aspects of Defense. Whereas you... in the Ministry's Curriculum you are merely good, but in the only magic that matters, the Dark Arts, your latest achievements are phenomenal."

"Ah, Potter." She scowled, and he yearned to declare his agreement with her dark thoughts about the brat, if only to earn her favour. "What does the Dark Lord intend to do with him?" His loyalty to the cause struggled with his eagerness to please now, and both fought doubt and ignorance. In the end, there was only one choice for him.

"I do not know. I was only instructed to ensure his participation to the Tournament." His crushing despondency at his inability to answer the question made him look for something, anything that would alleviate his guilt, something that would excuse - no, that would explain his inexcusable failure. Only then could he beg his mistress for forgiveness. "It was that bitch Lestrange's fault! She convinced the Dark Lord to keep the plan a secret. For added security, she said. Lies! She merely fancies herself our Lord's most valuable, most devoted servant and will do anything to promote her delusion."

"I see." The blonde goddess shook her head in disappointment and the sun of Barty Crouch's life grew dark. Should he kill himself? Beg to be turned into an Inferius so his eternal service make up for this monumental failure? "If that is all you can tell me, then I have another task for you Barty. I understand you have some skill with enchantment?"

He readily proclaimed that he did. He was the last student to get a NEWT in twelve subjects as far as he knew, a tremendous achievement repeated only four before, since Hogwarts' special program had begun. He might not have finished his Mastery as he was imprisoned barely two years out of Hogwarts, but he knew the theory. His Mistress declared his skills "sufficient" for the task, and he was overjoyed. He was so excited he even forgot to ask he be released, if only so he could better help - an oversight he attempted to correct a couple of times, only for his Mistress to present him with more theory and apparently unrelated questions. Awed as he was by his Mistress' plan, Barty was still clever enough to glimpse something tying the random questions together, an idea both so simple and awe-inspiring that must be the work of true genius.

They were making a weapon for the Dark Lord. A weapon of such awesome might that it would bring the Ministry, nay, the entire world to its knees! The magic behind it was truly inspired yet also easy, which explained the need for secrecy. If even word of it ever reached that muggle-loving fool's ears... But it would not, and the war would be won. Barty only had to fix a few simple mistakes - no, not mistakes; intentional gaps in the practical application his Mistress must have left in order to test his skills. Yes! That was the only explanation! So Barty worked for minutes, then hours, the Mistress periodically letting him sip from a nectar-like drink to maintain his stamina and mental focus. After much work they were done, and he drank from the cup one last time with satisfaction.

Then reality came crashing down once more, shattering the delusion.

"What... what the hell was that?" he croaked, his throat parched after spewing unbelievable praises to the mudblood whore that kept him prisoner.

"A mixture of truth, love, and friendship potion. It makes the victim believe I am their god." Campbell explained smugly, and Barty promised himself that he'd horribly murder her... eventually. He first had to escape and then torture the bitch for a very long time. "Unfortunately it's still in the experimental phase, and I can't yet use the stronger ingredients possible. Veritaserum and Unctuous Unction I can brew, but Amortentia is still beyond me; without it for balance, I have to settle for lesser potions. Plus, the resulting brew is mildly, or perhaps unavoidably, lethal so I have to waste loads of antidotes on you. Not that I can actually test the lethality on its full intended duration, which cuts down progress considerably."

"The Dark Lord is going to find me." Barty growled. "And then I will enjoy visiting punishments on you you cannot even begin to imagine."

"I don't know about that; Tom is rather fond of me right now," she said with that smirk he so despised. "Besides, you are labouring under the misconception you're going to remember all this."

"...what?"

"Barty, Barty, Barty. I am not some ministry stooge that throws Death Eaters to a prison where the guards are blind." She snorted derisively and started packing up the equipment they had been using. Wait, they? Barty tried to recall what he'd helped the mudblood bitch do and found out he could not remember. That made him struggle again, or at least attempt to. "See, you're in a place nobody else knows even exists, behind several defenses that prevent it from being found out, bound to an unbreakable table with unbreakable bonds, behind anti-disapparition and anti-portkey enchantments, with the bones in all four of your limbs vanished. Regular doses of Moly juice ensure you cannot apply minor and moderate magic on yourself, a shield around you will block such magic towards anything else, so even if you have wandless abilities you won't be going anywhere."

He glowered at her, but still held out to hope. There was always a way, possibly with accidental magic. If he could make himself angry or desperate enough...

"But that isn't the actual prison, Death Eater." All traces of humour were gone from the girl's face, turning it into a mask of contempt. "You have become your own prison cell, for I am willing to do what the Ministry will not; keep you under the Draught of Living Death and Forgetfulness Solution for as long as I decide to. Each time you wake up you entertain thoughts of escape, so tell me; how many times have we repeated this particular conversation, or at least its end?"

For the few moments before Barty Crouch junior fell into a deep and indefinite magical torpor, he felt despair. Valeria considered his predicament appropriate punishment for one who had helped torture Neville's parents to insanity. The night's work done, she packed up her tools and potions and walked down the long, long cavern from her lab and makeshift prison to the open air. Disillusioning herself before walking out the slightly narrower opening, she moved outside, then took a drink from a certain potion. Suddenly, her body began to grow to tremendous extent as the powerful magical concoction worked through her system, turning her the size of a Troll, then a Giant, then as large as Hogwarts' Great Tower...

...or rather countered the Shrinking Solution she'd drunk hours before to reduce herself to a height of of less than two inches. Once again ensuring that nobody was around, she took a rock out of her pocket and cast a sticking charm to seal up the entrance to the miniature dungeon. It wouldn't do for Crouch junior to be eaten by a rat, or other scavenger.

She still had much knowledge, test results, and ingredients to extract from him.


	33. Starfall

**Slow recovery after months-long hiatus for health reasons, but I am getting back to the habit of writing once more. Can't promise specific update speed, only that updates will continue, my health permitting. This chapter includes one of the older scenes I wrote for this story, going back two years ago at least. It finally sees the light of day, a prelude for things to come in the future war.**

 **Disclaimer: Did Harry attempt to go out with a girl for more significant a reason than her looks in canon? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me. He belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The day of the Third Task brought new problems to the Slytherin trio and their Gryffindor friends. Not even Tracey knew how the rumours about who Harry had asked for help in the Task had begun, but after the carefree happiness of the latest Hogsmeade visit - or the glorious tinkering with magic wizardkind was not meant to know for a certain muggleborn - waking up and facing the glowers and undisguised hostility of both their own House and its nominal rivals was rather unpleasant. Valeria and Harry had grown thick enough skin over similarly hostile periods in previous years, but Daphne, Tracey, Ron and Neville hadn't faced the weight of the entire school's displeasure before - not to that extent. From the sudden silence in the dormitories and common rooms, to muttered commentary in the corridors, to shunning in the Great Hall, the pressure mounted as the hour of the Task approached. To add insult to injury, Malfoy's enchanted badges had spread practically everywhere, giving all detractors a common way to express their opinion and make Harry both angry and doubtful of his ability to compete without even having to speak to him. If that many people believed he was a talentless hack and not a real Champion... well, they had a point, didn't they?

"Ignore them mate, they're just jealous!" Ron said, scowling so fiercely at a group of Ravenclaw third years that bore badges that he sent them running.

"Doesn't mean they're wrong, but thanks." Harry knew how much it must have cost Ron of all people to support him like this, when not a few weeks before he had to struggle with his own envy of his best friend.

"Yes Harry. Feel free to ignore the crass, uneducated masses. The only thing that matters is that you try your best in the Task." Daphne encouraged him with a smile that made Harry blush. Everyone in their group other than Harry noticed the tall Slytherin witch flick her wand at the group of badge-bearers, transfiguring their cloaks to palm-sized dragon replicas that tried to bite their ears and nose. It had only happened five times in the past couple of hours.

"You know, I think the badges are enchanted with more than Malfoy's stupid little slogans." Tracey commented. "Don't they look... off to you?"

"Not that I noticed." Valeria answered with a frown, then flicked her own wand at another group of students - a pair of older Slytherins this time. Naturally, that sent the two upperclassmen running back to the safety of the dungeons. "Nope. Revealing Charm only shows a single glamour spell for displaying the inscription."

"Maybe." Tracey muttered, unconvinced. "Why a glamour though? Why not a simple Colour-Changing Charm?"

"Being flashy and pompous for no good reason?" The short blonde shrugged. "Malfoy is like that. Being seen and hearing his own voice are his greater accomplishments."

"You know... I think Tracey's right." Ron interjected. "Those badges are visible; they're like, everywhere. Maybe... they're too visible?"

"Right, glamours can do a lot more than a Colour Changer." Tracey, Ron, and Valeria slowed down to discuss things, not coincidentally giving Harry and Daphne a chance to go ahead on their own. Neville was rather quiet, though that was because of the Marauder's Map. It was his turn to check on the artifact for clues and information on their opponents movements; they'd all of them been fed up stumbling into dangerous situations so it was decided one of them would keep watch on their best anti-ambush tool at all times. "What if... what if Malfoy made the badges more visible than they would have been? More eye-catching to draw attention and annoy people even more."

"That... is possible." Valeria conceded. Glamours could certainly do that, as could potions like the Beautification Potion. Something like an invasive, too attention-grabbing announcement? She hadn't felt anything like that from them. Then again, she was being exposed to a dark artifact and the Domination Curse on an almost daily basis; a simple glamour would not even register with the mental fortitude she'd had to build up. "I suppose we should get one for research purposes after the Task is done."

"No problem." Ron said with a smirk. "I'll just get Ginny's; I caught her with one yesterday evening. Come to think of it, her excuse was 'research', too." He shot a wary glance at the Slytherin girls. "Something you'd like to tell me?"

"Am I your sister's keeper?" Valeria countered, her mind already focusing on the task ahead rather than Weasley dynamics. That family was large enough and weird enough one would need Chaos Theory to understand it in any case.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

To Harry's great relief, all Champions and their chosen partners in the Task were exempt from the day's lessons to conserve their strength, according to McGonagal. Sitting in the empty common room or Great Hall while the rest of the school was in class only magnified his nervousness however, until the two blondes came and found him.

"Come on Harry, we'll do great." Daphne tried to cheer him up as the three fourth-years made their way to the castle grounds. Harry and Daphne had both their wands out, columns of magically heated air melting a path through the late January snow and Warming Charms staving off the chilly breeze. Their muggleborn friend didn't; where Valeria stepped the snow simply retreated as if it found her presence impossible to bear. He suspected the effect was due to a strong water-repelling charm rather than something more esoteric; snow was still water after all, and the muggleborn Slytherin loved her little theatrics. "We've been practicing hard; casting the spells will be piece of cake, you'll see." Somehow, the pureblood heiress's own worried frowns plaguing her face when she thought he wasn't looking didn't make him feel much better.

"You two are worrying too much. Defense and Transfiguration are your best subjects." Valeria commented without raising her head from several rolls of parchment filled with Arithmantic calculations in her arms. They followed her around where she went, spelled with levitation. She was still working furiously, writing figures neither Harry nor Daphne could understand as she measured time with a mechanical stopwatch. Harry thought he knew math but apparently he was mistaken, because his limited knowledge told him Val's equations were all wrong - and they couldn't be. Not for the first time, Harry wondered why more students didn't employ practical magic like that. He wouldn't have, not without someone to push him after growing up with the Dursleys, yet few of the other wizarding children used magic unless they wanted to do something obvious and flashy. Ron and Neville mostly used it in games or hobbies, and Tracey and Daphne preferred to remain unobtrusive. Harry loved magic, was happily surprised at each new use he discovered, but Valeria was positively obsessed with it. She would probably stop walking altogether if she didn't dislike brooms so much.

"Besides, if you want to improve your chances, you know what to do," the shorter girl said, breaking Harry's train of thought.

"We do?" he asked as Daphne shot Valeria a warning look the other witch entirely ignored.

"Sure. The Patronus depends on confidence and happy memories, right?" For a moment Valeria wished she knew why she was still botching the spell, but that was largely irrelevant to their current situation. "You two still have four hours to make more of both and - OW! OW! Get it off! Get it off!"

Harry tried holding back his laughter as Daphne transfigured a small rock into yet another tiny dragon model and set it to attack the other witch. The little winged menace did its task with as much energy as its creator would have wished, somehow finding itself tangled into Valeria's hair before Harry could say 'Quidditch'. Incapable of belching more than sparks, it proceeded to puff smoke with abandon until its victim managed to immobilize it with a Freezing Charm. A soot-covered Valeria glared as both Harry and Daphne finally lost it and laugher echoed all over the grounds. Trying to untangle the ball of wings, limbs, scales and hair got her nowhere and in the end she had to shrink it to oblivion before applying several cleaning charms. Of course, her hair remained hopelessly tangled. Harry was certain many Gryffindor girls like Lavender or Parvati knew more than one charm that could fix his friend's predicament, and Daphne, ice princess of Slytherin that she was, probably did as well. Valeria didn't appear to, so she had to transfigure a pebble into a hairbrush and fix the mess the hard way.

"Oi Potter!" a loud, friendly male voice echoed over the grounds and drew their attention. Harry turned around and saw Cedric Diggory approaching from the castle, his own team for the Task following. The Hufflepuff Champion was quite a sight in his formal Duelling robes, brown hair styled to perfection, shiny black boots and gloves positively glowing with a layer of fresh polish. Seeing him proudly march through the snow as if Winter's grasp did not impede him at all Harry felt more than a bit inadequate... and maybe a bit resentful. Why should Cedric have the support of the entire school behind him while he had to deal with Malfoy's stupid badges, snide remarks in the corridors, and threatening letters by the dozen every morning? At least the formal robes Sirius had sent him for Christmas - Acromantula silk, black and emerald to "match his girlfriend" as the incorrigible prankster's letter had mentioned - were a vast improvement over any clothing he had in the past. He didn't even want to think what he'd do if he had to appear at Cedric's side wearing something the Dursleys had bought him.

"Hi Cedric!" he greeted the older boy after forcibly swallowing his uncertainty. "Out on a walk with your... team?" Only then did he notice exactly who was following in Cedric's wake... and only narrowly avoided gaping like a fish. The older-looking, somewhat chubby boy in Hufflepuff colours he didn't know, but Cedric's second teammate was Angelina Johnson, a tall, dark-skinned Gryffindor and the senior member of Harry's Quidditch team after Oliver Wood's graduation at the end of their third year. Of course! He and the Gryffindor Chaser had had a small argument about it only a few days before but this was the first time Harry saw her in the other Champion's team. He sighed regretfully. if not for Daphne standing at his side at that very moment he had no idea how badly he might have taken it.

"Well, well, well," the second Hufflepuff boy said, giving Harry and the two Slytherin girls a cold, measuring stare that was returned with interest by Daphne. "If it isn't Hogwarts' junior team."

"Rufus!" Cedric called out warningly while Angelina remained silent.

"No, Ced. Potter wants to compete? He better be up to handling the heat." The chubby boy which, except for the height, reminded Harry of Neville, still looked as if he was measuring them and finding them wanting. "It's not enough that his being the fourth Champion hurt Hogwarts' relationship with two other major Wizarding Schools. If he fails spectacularly, our school's reputation will be damaged for generations to come."

"Yes, because Harry's performance with the dragon was really sub-par." Daphne mocked, the ice in her voice a warning that needed no words.

"A fluke, almost certainly." Rufus said brusquely, glancing once at Daphne then ignoring her in favour of focusing on Harry again. "Today's task will require impressive magic, not mere parlour tricks. If you really wanted to do Hogwarts' reputation justice, Potter, you'd have chosen teammates on ability and experience, not looks."

"That's enough, Rufus." Cedric spoke before the encounter could explode into something worse.

"Indeed?" Valeria said, finally joining the conversation with a nasty smirk that didn't help at all with Harry's peace of mind. "Rufus, is it?" she asked, staring at the older Hufflepuff critically. "What makes you think you'd be a credit to Hogwarts if we are not?"

"Three extra years of wasting my magical education," the boy returned the smirk with interest. "Plus a mere four OWLs, with Outstandings in Acting Like An idiot, Detention With Filch, Troll Studies, and Divination." That declaration was met with total silence and quite a bit of surprise from almost everyone else. Rufus wasn't done though. His expression took on a Malfoy-like aspect as he stared down at the young girl that dared challenge him and went on. "Besides, my father's family are famous members of the Goblin Liberation Front and my mother hails from even more renown muggle sanitation workers! Not that a... muggleborn like you would understand the importance of proper pedigree."

"Umm... are you feeling all right Rufus?" Cedric asked his friend with a confused expression, Angelina frowning at them as well.

"It appears he's been inexplicably Confunded," Valeria commented in all seriousness. "You'd better take him to the Hospital Wing."

"Right... right... I'll ask Madam Pomfrey to give him some Pepper-Up." Cedric said as he and Angelina gently handled the suddenly unresponsive Rufus. "Thanks for pointing it out, Val." The three of them walked away, apparently having forgotten the encounter already. Harry and Daphne turned to their friend who'd nonchalantly returned to her Arithmancy work.

"Good job with the silent casting." Daphne rather callously commented, though her lips were upturned into a shadow of a smile.

Harry decided then and there to learn how to hold up a Shield Charm even in his sleep. Val was a friend, but older, darker wizards lurked around every corner and Harry no longer saw the Killing Curse as the worst that could be done to him.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE THIRD TASK OF THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!" Ludo Bagman's voice thundered from the top of the wooden stands, cutting through the cries, shouts, and murmured conversations of nearly forty thousand wizards. Attendance had steadily increased with each subsequent Task due to the Ministry's advertising campaigns, and the Hogwarts Quidditch stadium could no longer fit the massive crowd of spectators, many of them foreign witches and wizards. The Ministry representatives and the Hogwarts Board of Directors had decided to build larger, temporary stands next to the stadium and not far from the banks of the Black Lake, leaving the Champions and their teams lots of open ground to compete in. The sun was slowly descending towards the horizon, the glorious January sunset making the coming task even more impressive.

"OUR CONTESTANTS HAD HAD ONE HOUR TO PREPARE THE MOST IMPRESSIVE SHOW OF MAGIC IN A SINGLE MAGICAL SUBJECT EACH, USING ONLY THEIR WANDS, THE ENVIRONMENT, AND THEIR IMAGINATION." Bagman boomed once more to the excited screams of thousands. "NOW THE TIME IS UP AND THE CONTEST BEGINS WITH THE CHAMPION OF BEAUXBATONS ACADEMY OF MAGIC AND HER TEAM. THEY COMPETE WITH CHARMS, HERBOLOGY, AND MIND ARTS!"

Fleur curtsied to the audience prettily in her pale blue gown, followed by a darker blonde girl in Beauxbatons uniform and surprisingly, Roger Davies, the Captain of Ravenclaw's Quidditch team. Harry knew that picking teammates from another school was officially encouraged to promote magical cooperation, but he had not thought anyone would actually do it... or that the perpetually entranced by Fleur's presence Ravenclaw prefect would be any good. As if Fate and the world were mocking him, Roger cast first.

 ** _"Repello Inimicum!"_**

Nothing seemed to happen for a moment, then an all but undetectable dome of magic expanded outwards from Davies' position to over a hundred yards in diameter. It looked more like a trick of the light or a momentary mirage easily dismissed than the impressive bit of magic it must be if the crowd's murmurs were any indication. "AND MISTER DAVIES CASTS THE FOE AVERSION SPELL, AN ENCHANTMENT MEANT TO DEFLECT ATTENTION AND APPROACH FROM THOSE WITH HOSTILE INTENTIONS," Bagman was quick to announce. Then the marks followed, eights and sevens from the judges. Harry had never seen the spell before, though by the marks it had to be fairly powerful but not particularly impressive. The dark blonde girl was next, daintily stepping into the center of the area already claimed by Davies' casting and waving her wand in a slow circle.

 ** _"Orchideous Extremis!"_**

Within the same radius of a bit over a hundred yards the grass grew rapidly, or rather new plants sprouted through it. Flowers of all colours turned the previously open space into a Spring meadow, and rosebushes appeared, some no higher than Harry's shoulder, others towering over like small trees, but all covered in crimson, pink, and white flowers. The bushes were not random in position or shape though; they were arranged by colour and all of them had taken elaborate geometric shapes. Amid the crowd's applause, Bagman once again commented. "MISS NADIA STEPFORD USES THE GREATER FLOWER-MAKING SPELL TO CREATE AN EXQUISITE GARDEN." The Beauxbatons witch received her marks - all significantly improved over Davies' - with a pretty blush, then hastily retreated... and Fleur Delacour shashayed into the newly-made garden.

Fleur didn't speak; she merely waved her wand around like a conductor's baton, and animals appeared. Songbirds of all types playing in the trees. Fluffy and cute bunnies frolicking by the dozens in the grass. Bees and Butterflies dancing from flower to flower in perfectly-timed choreography. There was even a doe prancing majestically through the meadow, followed around by a line of fawns, obviously her own children. The image really moved Harry, reminding him of both his Patronus and his own lost family. "MISS DELACOUR CREATES A HIGHLY CONVINCING, VERY ELABORATE MASS ILLUSION!" Bagman announced, and the crowd went wild. Most of Fleur's marks were nines.

"SECOND ARE THE HONOURED VISITORS FROM DISTANT DURMSTRANG, LED BY CHAMPION AND WORLD-RENOWN SEEKER VICTOR KRUM! THEY COMPETE WITH TRANSFIGURATION, CHARMS, AND DARK ARTS." Bagman shouted, and the Durmstrang team in their blood-red formal robes bowed to the audience in silence. Another, even more controversial choice. While not all Dark Arts were illegal they were usually frowned upon in wizarding Britain as Harry had found out, yet Krum's team had not violated the rules; as a legitimate subject in Durmstrang, Dark spells would be allowed - as long as they didn't violate any international laws that was. A very tall, broad-shouldered, silver-haired, blue-eyed Durmstrang student claimed an area to the left of the Beauxbatons garden. With a start, Harry realized that he knew him; his name was Ekhard or something, and he and Daphne had spent many a dinner in the Great Hall whispering to each other in the Slytherin table. Smothering a pang of jealousy with the knowledge that Daphne had chosen to stand by his side, Harry waited to see what he'd do. The advantage of being last meant that Harry, Daphne, and Valeria could see everyone else's efforts before committing to their own. The disadvantage of course being that they had to make their attempts after having seen how impressive everyone else had been.

 _ **"Protego Noctis!"**_

The boy vanished behind an entirely opaque spherical shield the colour of polished obsidian. Despite being a defensive spell, its appearance seemed somehow ominous and foreboding to Harry, which was a bit weird. How could a shield charm be ominous? "AH, MISTER EKKEHARD BERGER CAST THE NOCTIS SHIELD!" Bagman said as enthusiastically as he did everything else. "A DEFENSIVE SPELL THAT NOT ONLY PROTECTS BUT ALSO OFFERS ONE-WAY CONCEALMENT THAT DOES NOT INHIBIT THE CASTER AND BECOMES STRONGER THE MORE THE CASTER'S ENEMIES FEAR HIM!" The crowd's enthusiasm was a bit muted given what the spell was, but the judges gave the boy better marks than they had to Roger Davies. Karkaroff seemed to be unfairly supporting his students with that ten, but that was balanced by Dumbledore's six, possibly because the venerable wizard did not like dark magic. When Ekkehard stepped aside, Krum walked forward and the crowd's cheers faded into reverent silence.

The teenage Quidditch champion didn't raise his wand or perform any complex magic as he approached the edge of the lake though. He merely flicked it to remove all his clothes but his swim shorts - to the obvious delight of all the ladies in the audience if their too-loud squeals were any indication - then jumped into the lake. In mid-jump his body was already changing, and by the time his head disappeared under the surface it had become large enough to devour Harry in one bite, then chew him in that double row of enormous teeth. Krum kept leaping out of the water to better show off his massive body; he'd managed to turn into a great white shark! Even worse for Harry's team, the judges gave him better marks because it both was an animagus transformation and the first time Krum had managed his full change in public.

After Krum had returned to human form, the last member of the Durmstrang contingent came to show off his magic, a short, plump, a bit shabbily dressed boy. Harry realized that he knew him; his name was Poliakov and the Durmstrang headmaster didn't hold him in the best esteem. He seemed to be capable enough though when he approached a wagon-sized boulder, tapped it a few times, then sent it flying! "AND MISTER POLIAKOV VEIDT ENCHANTS A BOULDER WITH FLIGHT AND REMOTE CONTROL!" Bagman cried, but this time the Judges weren't very generous despite how impressive the task had seemed to Harry. True Flying enchantments were taught in seventh year Charms so Harry had no idea why Poliakov had been given a lower score. At least it would be good for Hogwarts. Speaking of which...

"AND NOW WELCOME FROM OUT VERY OWN HOGWARTS, CHAMPION CEDRIC DIGGORY AND HIS FRIENDS ANGELINA JOHNSON AND RUFUS FUDGE! THEY COMPETE IN DEFENCE, TRANSFIGURATION, AND HERBOLOGY!"

"Did he say Fudge?!" Harry exclaimed for the first time since the task had begun, turning to the two Slytherin girls still trying to go through a few extra minutes of preparation. "Like Fudge the Minister?"

"Yes Harry, Rufus is the Minister's nephew." Daphne said with some distaste. "Never loses an opportunity to remind others of that fact too... except when he believes he's a descendant of anarchist goblins and garbage men, that is." Fortunately, the Hufflepuff boy didn't seem to suffer any lasting issues from Valeria's Confundus spell. Ron had once told him a horror story about a wizard who was made to believe he was a giant spider trapped in human form and had succeeded in 'returning' to his original shape. If something like that had happened in the middle of the Tournament... luckily Val had also Confunded Cedric and Angelina in believing the cause was something other than Val's casting, and Madam Pomfrey never asked questions.

Angelina was now walking in the area Cedric's team had claimed, and raised her wand with determination.

 ** _"Prohibeo Apparitum!"_**

As with Roger Davies before her, nothing much seemed to be happening, until Harry noticed a subtly shimmering dome a mere fifteen yards wide that slowly settled into perfect transparency. Bagman frowned and asked the other judges something before his bemused expression cleared into his usual enthusiasm. "MISS ANGELINA JOHNSON DISPLAYS THE ANTI-DISAPPARITION JINX, A SPELL THAT BLOCKS SEVERAL FORMS OF MAGICAL TRANSPORTATION IN AN AREA, INCLUDING APPARITION." The clapping from the younger audience members wasn't very intense, but older witches and wizards seemed impressed enough with the Gryffindor girl's feat. The judges all give her solid eights, except for the Ministry representative giving a nine. Almost before Angelina was done though, Rufus Fudge marched forward, wand raised. He didn't speak an incantation, but the results spoke for themselves; every single boulder, rock, and pebble within a hundred yards from him simply vanished!

"AN IMPRESSIVE FEAT OF MASS VANISHMENT!" Bagman commented, and indeed the judges marked the insulting boy higher than Angelina by a fair margin. Cedric's turn came next, last of his team. The Hufflepuff Champion walked before the massive crowd confidently, bowed and gave one of his patented, thousand-watt smiles, then turned towards the tree-line of the Forbidden Forest beyond the Quidditch Stadium.

 _ **"Mobiliarbus Maxima!"**_

The forest stirred. Birds flew off the nearest trees as they begun to shake, move, and finally uproot themselves, only to walk up to Cedric's position like creatures out of some fairytale. Three dozen animated trees at once had the crowd going wild and Cedric smiling widely as he cashed in the points.

"LAST BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST, ALSO FROM HOGWARTS, A LOUD APPLAUSE FOR HARRY POTTER AND HIS TEAM! THEY COMPETE WITH DEFENCE, TRANSFIGURATION, AND CHARMS!"

"OK Harry, our turn." Daphne said seriously. "Are you ready?"

"I think so." Harry said, both nervous and determined... though he had no idea if he was honest.

"You think so?" Daphne demanded, hands on hips. "I didn't join this team for what you think, Potter, but what you can do." Then before he could protest, she kissed him - on the lips! The crowd went wild without him having cast anything, though he was not exactly paying attention to them. "Now go there and kick ass." She ordered, shoving him away. Harry went in a daze, wand held loosely and heart beating like a drum. The sounds from the crowd, Bagman, his many detractors that had come to see him fail... all gone. Only him, an impossibly happy feeling, and the one spell he had to cast.  
 _ **  
"Expecto Patronum!"**_

Prongs practically exploded out of the tip of his wand, a massive stag at least as large and bright as that night he'd banished a hundred dementors at once - no, larger and brighter! As the sun sank below the horizon, all the grounds of Hogwarts were bathed in silvery radiance. For one single moment, his happiness was perfect that Bagman's commentary did not register, and the judges' marks were irrelevant. Then reality reasserted itself, and he turned to see most of them giving nines. Dumbledore smiled at him fondly and gave him a solid ten, as did Bagman himself.

"My turn." Daphne said simply, not a trace of emotion evident beyond a mask of absolute determination.

"Good luck!" both Harry and Valeria said as their friend walked up to the largest boulder in their area and tapped it with her wand. The cart-sized stone began to shrink and melt rapidly, and Daphne tapped it again, this time shouting out the incantation for the best results possible.

 ** _"Draconifors!"_**

"Oh, you cheaty witch, you!" Valeria whispered admiringly, yet so quietly that only Harry heard her. The boulder, now a rock that fit in Daphne's fist, bubbled, spread out, grew limbs, wings, a tail, and a long neck, becoming yet another model dragon like many others Daphne had made since Harry gave her the original as a gift. It didn't stop there though; it begun to grow. Sheep-sized, cow-sized, wagon-sized and still it grew, Daphne still holding her wand pointed at it. It was obvious from Daphne's shaking hands that the spell was now incredibly tiring and no wonder; the imitation Hungarian Horntail was now larger than an elephant and rapidly approached its species natural proportions. The Slytherin girl kept struggling even as the entire crowd fell into awed silence and finally the Horntail stopped growing, towering nearly fifty feet above the ground as it stretched in challenge. There the transfigured model remained for a few seconds, then it started shuddering.

"Oh, no." Valeria exclaimed and Harry eyed the massive transfiguration with apprehension. A few moments later, even as Bagman exclaimed how impressive and unprecedented a full-sized dragon replica was, the dragon exploded. Pieces of it fell all around as it burst, rapidly reverting to stone in the process. Daphne gasped, but before she could collapse from exhaustion Harry had run up to her and held her supportively.

"I'm sorry Harry. I failed." The Slytherin princess said in a somewhat brittle tone. "I shouldn't have tried for a form that large."

"Are you kidding?" he shouted over her weak protests. "I don't care what the judges say, that was awesome."

"And cheating." Valeria mentioned as she approached. "Hopefully the judges didn't notice thanks to the spectacular outcome."

"Shut up, you." Daphne retorted, and all three of them waited to receive her marks. Surprisingly, she had scraped mostly sevens, though Bagman had given her a nine.

"See? They mark us primarily for how impressive the magic is, not success," Valeria reassured them. "And forcing that spell to produce an animated dragon of that size was certainly flashy enough."

"Yeah, good effort." Harry encouraged Daphne. "We should have a chance to match Fleur in second place if Val's efforts are flashy enough."

"Oh, I dunno about that," the Slytherin witch in question said coyly as she walked away and towards the Black Lake.

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked her, but got no reply. That worried him greatly.

The sun had set and the last light of day was slowly fading. Silver was giving way to dark blue in the sky, and stars struggled to gleam through the gathering clouds. Valeria ignored Bagman's fanfares as he announced her and raised her wand towards the darkening sky. An hour's preparation for this moment had left her more than a bit tired, but it had been critical both in achieving the desired results and concealing her methods. Unlike Daphne's shrinking of the boulder before transforming it and then cancelling the shrinking as the Transfiguration progressed to force vastly greater proportional results, what she had done was neither cheating nor illegal. It still was an idea she wouldn't like to see in certain hands however, hence some theatricality and deception was a must. The crowd was becoming impatient so time to give it something to talk about for a long time to come.

 _ **"DIES IRAE!"**_

As she shouted and pulled down her Cherry and Dragon Heartstring wand in a slow, distracting gesture, she willed the effect into activation. For a moment nothing changed, but a split second later a hundred balls of blue fire fell from the heavens. Another split second later another hundred fell as the first hundred spit in two. Another moment and another barrage, the first multiplying to four hundred, the second to two. Four seconds in, and the spheres of fire had become one and a half thousand. Ten seconds in, the first wave was touching the surface of the Black Lake and the twilight was shattered by _a hundred thousand_ tongues of cerulean flame. And yet the rain of fire fell, like a shower of stars from the firmament, though the actual origin points were barely fife hundred yards high. The intensity no longer increased now, but more and more burning missiles sank into the Black Lake, their flames unquenched and still burning bright. At half a minute, the portion of the lake close to the contest grounds glowed. At one minute, it begun to boil, massive pillars of steam rising upwards in the sky even as more and more fire fell.

The crowd was no longer excited now; many had fallen silent in awe. Some were shouting in either incredulity or fear, and attempts to cancel the rain of fire were made by several. As with the accidental discharge of a single source in the Slytherin common room earlier in the week, snuffing out individual fires didn't do much to stop the conflagration's propagation... and Valeria had quietly created and positioned a _hundred_ sources under cover of small invisibility spells over the last hour. Unless Headmaster Dumbledore intervened or more than one wizard at a time attempted a counterspell, the rain of fire would run its course.

When that had finally happened ten minutes later, the Black Lake was a dozen yards shallower and the Merfolk Queen was quite angry. Whoops!


	34. Reactionary

**Another update, showing a bit of the impact from previous events. Regarding the firestorm, a candle flame is about 80 watts and takes 1/4 of a cubic inch. The firestorm was a lot bigger than a candle. Like, if we used supercarriers as a unit of power output, it would be over a hundred thousand. Now, food for thought; Crabbe's Fiendfyre in canon book seven isn't much smaller and is more intense... and Crabbe isn't the strongest wizard around.**

 **Disclaimer; did Harry and company ever ask Dobby to work for their benefit more than once per year despite the elf being obviously eager to help? If not, I do not own Harry Potter; the series belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely nonprofit.**

xxxx xxxx xxxx

As January gave way to February, thick dark clouds still dominated the skies over Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and the surrounding areas, as they had every day and every night since the Third Task. The heavy precipitation had yet to abate as well, at times merely a moderate sleet, at others a powerful snowstorm. Used to the far harsher climate of their homeland, the visitors from Durmstrang were quire pleased with the extended snowfall, and an informal contest of magical winter games had started between them and many enthusiastic Hogwarts students. The Weasley clan had quite a prominent role in upholding the school's honor, with the Twin Terrors improving the home team's snow fortress with elaborate traps, Ginny leading a small group of underclassmen that included the Creevey brothers, the Carrow twins, and Mafalda Prewett in enthusiastic renditions of death squads, and Ron pitting his ideas an instincts in a battle of will and wits against the "enemy's" commanders. The real show-stealers of course were Krum, Poliakov, Harry, and Cedric and their aerial duels. Krum was the best flier by a small margin, and with Poliakov barely able to rise off the ground the aerial battle should have been in the bag for Hogwarts' valiant seekers... if not for the chubby Durmstrang boy's flight charms. Turning beachball-sized snowballs into improvised bludgers to serve as both anti-air and siege weapons didn't seem as much of an advantage since even a first-year should be able to halt them with Knockback Jinxes... until one realized Poliakov could hang back and produce enough of them to overwhelm the enemy's point-defense. Justin Finch-Fletchley had, surprisingly, been the first to realize what the Durmstrang visitors were doing and how to counter it, though his occasional reference to something called _Jane's Fighting Ships_ flew over everyone else's heads.

In contrast to their counterparts from the North, the Beauxbatons delegation was not having a good time. They stayed locked up in their carriage behind multiple layers of warming charms, or in the warmer areas of the castle when they had to, and crossed the intervening, snow-covered grounds in undignified haste several times a day. They did so as a group and with their wands at hand, as if expecting an attack rather than being annoyed at the weather. Fleur Delacour's loud and incessant complaints about the weather, Peeves, the indignities the delegation was being subjected to, Hogwarts' cuisine, Peeves, the absence of 'real' art and decor in the castle, and Peeves caused everyone to avoid the prickly French part-Veela... everyone except Peeves, of course. The poltergeist favoured ambush tactics, intangibly charging through walls or even the ground, and many of the Weasley Twins' products that had somehow found their way into his hands. Olympie Maxime's complaints to Albus Dumbledore did not seem to have much of an impact to the older Headmaster. Dumbledore merely gave his patented cryptic smiles and twinkling eyes while offering platitudes about "having to face adversity" and "valuable lessons for the future", which for some reason seemed to satisfy the part-giantess for a time - or until her students' next encounter with Hogwarts' resident troublemakers in any case.

Regarding visiting Headmasters, several weird rumours had sprung up about Highmaster Karkarov's comings and goings. He had a tendency to disappear for hours at a time, but when he could be found he always seemed to be in the company of Severus Snape. That the two were old friends was well-known, but the Hogwarts rumour mill was attempting to give a rather... deeper meaning to their relationship. Tracey vehemently denied being behind that particular rumour, but nobody who really knew her particularly believed her. That she spent more than her share of time in Marauder Map duty ostensibly to track down Rita Skeeter, and had occasionally been seen by the other map-holders following the Highmaster and her own Head of House around did not help her case.

But there was one particular individual enjoying the lull after the latest Task even less than the perpetually angry Potions Master when faced with such insinuations in the minds of his own students. After the rain of fire incident during the Third task that saw Harry's team unfairly disqualified and falling to the last place at Karkarov's, Madam Maxime's, and the Ministry representative's insistence, the Merpeople had absolutely refused entry to the Black Lake to any witch or wizard until further notice. Patrols of trident-armed warriors at the lake's shoreline enforced their Queen's decree, with the largest group standing guard in the area the rain of fire had hit. If Merpeople had had any magic outside their watery environment, the hateful glares from more than two dozen of them would have already placed a wandless curse on the subject of their ire.

 _"Accio rock duplicates!"_

Hundreds of rocks the size of a fist rose from the shallow waters, then abruptly vanished at another gesture from the Merpeople's new enemy. Wiping sweat and sleet off her face and eyes, Valeria raised her wand once more. Another summoning spell, another vanishment. How many did that make for that evening alone? She'd lost count at four thousand seven hundred and eighty-five... and that had been nearly two hours before.

 _"Accio rock duplicates!"_

Her aching mouth and tongue struggled over the incantation even as another cramp made her wand twitch. She'd learned during the first day of her punishment that doing both the summoning and the finishing charms non-verbally left her mentally exhausted not even halfway through the detention. In order to finish before collapsing from exhaustion, she had to do it the easy way. Naturally, the 'easy way' had given her a cramped tongue of all things in her second day of detention.

 _"Accio rock duplicates!"_

Standing in the snow, sleet, and powerful gusts of wind for hours at a time was not an issue with access to magic. Even the physical part of her punishment seemed less harsh after spending weeks under a lead-weight charm in lieu of muggle forms of exercise. What she really lamented was all the lost time; study time, research time, brewing time, enchanting time. She was even falling behind on her homework and standard lessons!

 _"Accio rock duplicates!"_

At least she was allowed to use magic to empty the portion of the lake she'd accidentally filled with falling stones. In retrospect, tying a simple fire or heat charm to a physical anchor for easy duplication like the Curse-Breakers in Gringotts did had some unforeseen downsides when it came to cleaning up what should have been a flashy but ultimately mostly harmless bit of magic. To make matters complicated, the Daily Prophet had featured an article about the magic used in the Task, causing a positive flood of letters to arrive every morning, howlers included. She'd been getting rid of them with Disintegration Spells rather than reading or hearing them except for Claude's latest letter. In it, he congratulated her on successfully casting a "Stone Rain" spell and destroying her first land; her elder brother was weird like that.

 _"Accio rock duplicates!"_

Another swarm of duplicated rocks flew out of the recently refilled lake, right as a more lasting cramp made her lose both her wand and her concentration. The rocks scattered all over the place, making the Merpeople even angrier. She ignored them; a stone to the forehead had just added to her bruises and cramps and unlike the fish-men, she didn't have protective scales everywhere. Retrieving her wand, she decided to call it a night; the enormous pile of rocks still left wouldn't be going anywhere. At this rate, she'd be in detention for another tenday at least, a tenday during which she'd be worked to the bone, have almost no time to finish her homework, and no access to a Time Turner. Grumbling at the unfairness of the world, the muggleborn Slytherin crawled through the snow in the general direction of the castle. Unfortunately, detention would not be the only trouble she'd be in that day.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Dozens of magical devices puffed, tinkled, whirred, and chirped in the Headmaster's office, a counterpoint to the dozens of faintly snoring portraits and a phoenix's soft crooning. Fawkes' burning day was approaching again, but the stubborn bird clung to life with both claws. _As should we all_ , Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore thought. Death was not something to be feared - for wizards had proof the afterlife existed in some form, however mysterious - but life was a great and irreplaceable gift to be enjoyed to its fullest... which was precisely what made murder is particular and Dark Magic in general so heinous. Resisting the urge to sigh, the aging Grand Sorcerer focused on the delicate magical instruments within reach, most of his own devising.

Detection spells for just about anything existed, from the analysis of a potions ingredients or simple eavesdropping, to the weighing of a man's very fate. Their ubiquity and ease of casting made them rather obvious however, at least for those knowing where to look. Thus his hobby and job of disguising the purpose of his possessions came about, for who would guess that delicate silver spindle that not only whistled like a teapot but emitted smoke like one could symbolically depict the state of one's essence of self? Apparently not paying attention to his bedraggled visitor, he checked that all the instruments were working as intended. One minute became five, then ten, then fifteen. When his visitor had finally stopped dripping and begun to fidget in either impatience or discomfort, he gave them a measuring - and distracting - stare over his half-moon spectacles and spoke.

"Do you have anything you wish to say, Miss Campbell? Anything at all?"

"Yes, I do," the girl shot back with a glare. "The Black Lake is mostly refilled. Why do the Atmospheric Charms remain? For that matter, why do the heaviest sleet storms happen to coincide with my detentions?"

"Coincidences do happen, my dear," Albus replied, convincing nobody. He could swear he heard Phineas Nigellus' portrait snort, for all it was pretending to be asleep. "Besides, actions have consequences. Detentions are an educator's attempts to remind young, perhaps less experienced people of that very fact."

"There's a difference between consequences and reactions, Professor."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore rested his chin on steepled fingers, offering the young witch an encouraging smile. "Could you explain this particular reasoning?"

"Consequences happen automatically due to an action. Reactions are merely how everyone else views what you did."

"And yet it is the latter that is the most important." Dumbledore allowed his gaze to harden. "In fact, it is many a student's inability to realize this that necessitates the existence of detentions. Magic offers great possibilities, but it should be used with prudence and deliberation for precisely two reasons. First, because other people have magic too. And secondly, because whatever possibilities magic might offer, when you get an undesirable outcome fixing it comes with great difficulty. Have you not found it so, Miss Campbell?"

"Yes, Professor," the muggleborn Slytherin said through gritted teeth.

Albus decided not to press the issue, and the girl was allowed to return to her dormitory. Fifty years before, he would have responded differently. It would have been the wrong reaction, as Tom Riddle had amply proven. Unfortunately, there was only so much he could do for another talented youth who, as her kind usually did, believed she knew best. Had Albus himself not been the same a century earlier, realizing his mistakes too late? Unfortunately, neither the political situation nor the preparations for Tom's return allowed him the luxury of time.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore knew Wizarding Britain enjoyed a brief respite between two wars and was far from ready for the second. With Tom's measures against death, discovering a way to defeat him was paramount. Even winning the second war came a distant second to that; a victorious Pureblood regime would fall to the changing times eventually, but an immortal Dark Lord that gained more knowledge and power with every passing year would eventually surpass all opposition. Having a broken madman like Tom in control of Wizarding Britain first and eventually the world was a future Albus would sacrifice everything to avert.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Physically and mentally exhausted by long hours in detention, Valeria returned to the dungeons well after midnight. Yawning, she stepped around a Confunded caretaker and his cat and shambled towards the Slytherin Common Room. She barely paid attention to her surroundings or the magical trap that broke against her shield - amateurish enchanting at its best, that - but she had to struggle with the stairs and almost ended up in another year's dormitories twice before remembering her way. Sleeping in Montague's bed would have been quite the scandal, though even that thought didn't give her enough energy for a giggle. A last thought did bring a smile to her lips as she snuggled in her awesomely comfortable four-poster bed.

How would Pansy Parkinson react to getting detention for snogging a boy in the dungeons after midnight?

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The morning of the second of February marked the longest time of peace and quiet the Slytherin Common Room had experienced in recent years. For just over a week, the acceptable targets for bigotry, bullying, social ostracisation, and outright hexing and assault had been in question. Not because teenagers in general and young purebloods in particular had suddenly earned a smidgen of wisdom, but because this was Slytherin, the House where common sense and survival instinct were highly valued and intentionally cultivated. For seven days, everyone had been waiting for those who'd shaken the usual politics and beliefs of the House with that very obvious and impressive challenge to dictate terms, or at least make a statement. That new information could then be analysed and dissected, appropriate responses prepared, and means to either undermine or share in the power of a new leader could be worked out.

Unfortunately for all those schemers, there had been no demands. No speeches. No political moves. As far as they could tell, the mud... muggleborn witch went to classes, survived impressively long detentions, caught up with homework, and generally studied as she'd always done. Day after day of being ignored did not sit well with the schemers, so eventually a representative was 'elected' and volunteered to broach certain subjects with the temporarily superior enemy.

"What do you want, Nott?" Valeria asked without raising her head from the sheets upon sheets of diagrams and notes haphazardly arrayed on the table she'd chosen that morning. She was behind in everything, but especially her Astronomy and Muggle Studies work. Professor Sinistra was cool and would probably give her an extension if she asked, but her academic reputation was in line - she could not waste time now. Besides, she and Professor Burbage had never seen eye to eye, due to the Professor's naive ideas about the harmlessness of Muggles and their supposed social enlightenment compared to the Wizarding World. If the project on enchanting a muggle artifact was even a day late, the daft minger would happily give her a zero. Which was precisely why she had no time to waste on one of Draco Malfoy's sycophants.

"It's not what I want that's the issue," the small, reedy boy said a bit tentatively.

"Then go bother somebody else. I'm busy!" the blonde witch said and continued reading on spatial inflation and permanent non-Euclidean spaces.

"Look..." Theo interrupted her reading again then paused, which annoyed her further. "We've been waiting for a week but you aren't doing... well... anything!"

"Uninformative. Also unhelpful." Deciding that the interruptions would be dealt with sooner if tackled decisively, Valeria set down _'Advanced Arithmancy for the Adventurous'_ and looked up with a red-eyed glare. "Explain succinctly; what is this about?"

"Politics, Campbell!" Nott exclaimed with some exasperation. "Nobody grandstands as you did in the spellcasting contest without some ulterior motive!"

"I see..." The Slytherin muggleborn pinched her nose as she considered. Daphne had warned her this would happen. She simply had not wanted to listen, and now there was a chance reactions would get out of hand. It might have been better if she'd acted on the politically experienced pureblood girl's advice days before to set a new status quo, but there hadn't been enough time. She'd really been busy... and now the initiative was in the blood-purists' hands. Or perhaps not. With deliberate slowness she gathered her books, parchment, and auto-answer quill, shrunk them and stored them in her purse, the simple, mechanical actions allowing her to focus on what would follow. Then she walked up to Malfoy and Parkinson's seats next to the fireplace.

"Hello Malfoy," she greeted him seriously, if not politely. Vincent and Gregory formed ranks behind their boss like the minions they were, but everyone in the common room paid attention, subtly or not. Draco and Pansy looked at her with anger, but also a bit of apprehension. Good. "What is your opinion on muggleborns and magic? _**Tell the truth!**_ " The last three words echoed with unusual emphasis, as they should.

"Magic is in the blood, freakish aberrations aside." Forgetting his hesitation, Malfoy sneered. "But more than that, family and tradition matter. Generations of wizards built the wizarding world, invented the spells we learn, and set up everything as thousands of years of wisdom and tradition demanded. And then, the muggles turned against us. Instead of crushing them as we should have, because of the pleading of a few halfbreeds and mudbloods, we shackled ourselves to only part of the world, limited magic itself so we would not alarm the powerless animals. And every year since then those born of muggle blood, due to the demands of mudbloods before them, come to our world knowing nothing about magic - sprouting instead muggle stupidity. Wizards, the blood-traitors say, must accept these thieves of our knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, according to them, a most desirable circumstance... They would have us all mate with muggles, forget our history, tradition, and eventually even our magic!"

By the time he'd finished his little speech, Draco Malfoy was red like a Weasley, wide-eyed, and panting hard. His face had twisted in an expression of dark triumph, as if he was finally free to say things he'd wanted to for some time. And then what, exactly, he'd said, how, and to whom registered... and his skin lost every little bit of colour. He stumbled back under the incredulous stares of everyone in the common room then toppled atop Pansy, who was so surprised she barely squeaked. Most Slytherins had considered similar thoughts at one time or another, even if only to discard them. But even for those who agreed with him wholeheartedly, Draco had shouted his beliefs openly, in a way they'd never do. Speaking against muggleborns alone was already frowned upon; turning against the Statute of Secrecy like that was dangerously close to sedition, and possibly treason.

"Thank you Draco, for your _honesty_ ," Valeria said with such cold contempt that Malfoy paled further. "And for demonstrating why you - and those like you - belong less in Slytherin than under my boot."

She walked out of the Common Room then, furious whispering already underway when the hidden door closed and cut off all sounds from within. She stalked deeper into the dungeons for several minutes, boots beating furiously against the ground as she imagined the flagstones were the heads of blood purists being punished for their stupidity. Then she leaned against a wall, took deep breaths while counting to a hundred, and considered exactly how stupid she'd been to act so uncompromisingly. The problem hadn't been resolved; it had probably escalated.

"Dobby?" she called out in the darkness after making sure with both her eyes and several spells that she was on her own and that there were no portraits nearby. There was a loud POP! and the three-foot-tall, long-eared, big-eyed, spindly form of a House Elf appeared before her. He - and it required considerable experience with House Elves to apply the appropriate pronoun - wore a tiny black suit, full with black boots, black bowler hat, and sunglasses.

"Weird Miss Valley call Dobby?" the perhaps weirdest representative of his (or any) species Valeria had ever met asked.

"Yes, Dobby." The Slytherin witch smiled indulgently and gave Dobby a sickle that made the elf's eyes grow wider than the lenses of his sunglasses. "I need somewhere quiet, welcoming, and safe to study. The Slytherin Common Room is no longer any of the three."

"Oooh, did Miss Valley curse bad Snakes?" Dobby said with alarming eagerness before falling deep in thought; she could tell because his ears twitched erratically.

"Yes... Yes! Dobby knows a place!"


	35. Dreamful Sleep

**Dreamful Sleep**

Harry Potter stood in the muddy, grass-covered eastern bank of the Black Lake as the last rays of sunlight glittered against the tall towers of Hogwarts behind him, and on the snow-capped mountains to the North. Before him stood the hastily constructed wooden stands that held forty thousand spectators, filled to capacity and with the crowd of onlookers spilling on the ground, only barely held at a safe distance by Ministry officials. He could not quite hear the crowd cheering or booing for the Champion of their choice, though. Neither could he see their faces beyond an indistinct blur, or feel the chilly January breeze against his face. The entire world had faded until it was just him, the blades of grass clinging wetly to his legs and robes, the softly lapping lake-water behind him... and the golden-haired beauty at his side. He resisted the overwhelming impulse to simply gape at her because of the voice. Somewhere among the faded images of the world, the visions of beauty that took up every inch of his mind, he knew he still had something to do. Something important.

But what was more important than his companion?

 _"Cast the spell, Harry! You know you can!"_

Eyes like gleaming opals, hair like spun silver, and that figure! Each detail came up in his thoughts at the memory, clear as crystal in contrast to the faded reality around him.

 _"Stop gaping like a fish and cast, stupid boy!"_

That voice - like honey. Not like this annoying insect's buzz intruding upon his dream. And most important of all... the kiss! He tried to remember the texture of her lips, found out he could not. Perhaps they should kiss again? Make the memory longer-lasting? Better? How should he frame it for the best results?

 _"Harry James Potter! Cast the spell or I'll hex you!"_

Harry jumped out of his stupor at the command, his Holly and Phoenix Feather wand practically leaping on its own accord into the correct wand-motion even as his own lips, still tingling from that kiss, stumbled over the incantation. He knew the spell, had cast it on several occasions, but never before as strongly or as well as he did that very moment. That, he instinctively knew as the massive silver stag exploded from his wand, was yet another gift from the girl at his side. The crowd was going wild; he could see that now even through the gathering mist and falling darkness. Night was approaching rapidly, but the stag still held back the gloom enough for him to see the judges marking his efforts. Not that he had any attention to spare for them, of course; all of it was lavished on the pureblood princess that had somehow agreed to help him.

And now it was her turn. Harry's vision narrowed down to just the girl and her efforts, the rest of the world fading away entirely. He would be a liar if he claimed he didn't prefer it that way; no worries about his marks in the Tournament, why he was forced to compete against his will, what everyone else thought, or the immortal murderer with a twisted fixation on him; just a beautiful girl who also was a strong witch... who had also kissed him. Seeing her like this, forcing a massive boulder to melt away and turn into a massive dragon... he had the feeling that the girl was the dragon, and Harry had no idea how to handle her. Which for some reason seemed not just OK but totally awesome to him.

And then the dragon exploded.

Harry felt that it was OK; it was a mightily impressive effort anyway. Others though had a different opinion. The crowd was no longer cheering the Champions towards glory; their cries, which had suddenly become audible once again, were intermixed with more than a few derisive comments that beat against his ears like hurled bricks. He suddenly felt extremely, overwhelmingly angry, had the urge to pick up those bricks and hurl them back at whoever threw them. And if that did not hurt them? He would make bricks, larger and heavier and faster-flying. Bastards! It didn't matter to them that he'd been forced to participate in a lethally dangerous Tournament with years less magical education than he should have had. They did not care that others his age had been brave enough to support him, share the burden even against their own House. He clenched his fists and turned towards the judges to wait for the girl's marks; if he kept looking at the crowd he might do something he shouldn't.

The tall, imposing Headmistress of Beauxbatons raised her wand and produced a large figure seven. Not bad per se, but for something that impressive? He'd have given a nine - well, probably a ten Harry corrected himself with a blush, but he was biased. As for the half-giantess... she was probably supporting that Fleur girl of hers. Suddenly, she no longer seemed as imposing to him. More like petty... and small.

The Durmstrang Highmaster... the more Harry looked, the more there was something oily, rotten about him. He did not feel as much repelled by the thin, sneering man as he felt angry - no, furious at him. And the big, ugly five he marked Daphne with... Harry felt betrayed even though he'd expected the unfairness of the man. He wanted to reach out, grab him by the neck, and shake him until something other than betrayal fell off. Of course, he could do nothing of the sort at that moment.

Albus Dumbledore sat in the middle of the judges' panel, gleaming silver and deep blue, forbidding and powerful as he was manipulative. Had Harry and his friends not seen first-hand how the Headmaster's plans never turned out well for them? Always held them back at the wrong moment, or kept them ignorant supposedly for their own good, or pitted them against dangers even grown wizards feared to face? A powerful wave of resentment struck Harry as Dumbledore, too, gave Daphne a seven. 'She deserved better!' he wanted to shout, but didn't. It wouldn't do any good - and Harry doubted he could be heard over the crowd's shouts in any case.

Of the two Ministry representatives, only Ludo Bagman registered at all. Young, athletic, not particularly bright, his position and naive helpfulness towards Harry made him useful. With a cheerful smile, the witless popinjay gave Daphne a ten, as he had Harry minutes before. The other representative was a nonentity, as insignificant as the Ministry was corrupt and malignant. His seven didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

He comforted Daphne for the judges' unfairness, told her how awesome, glorious she'd been. There was more he wanted to say, much more, but the words wouldn't come. He enjoyed instead her soft touch, even in a simple hug. He wanted to do a lot more, or maybe less? Suddenly, the whole situation seemed far more nebulous and confusing, as if he was rapidly running out of things to see, hear, but especially feel. Then the third member of their group drew his attention, the... other blonde. It was weird, but she seemed almost as unimportant to him as the second Ministry man at times, then all but blew up and filled his senses as something both intriguing and threatening. She was going to do something reckless again, he knew it.

The diminutive, dirty-blonde girl did not disappoint. Somehow, and Harry could not begin to fathom the mechanics behind that magic, she'd made fire rain from the skies. Sickly yellow and fat red drops falling from a starless, moonless darkness above, painting the entire lake crimson. Naturally, the judges were not amused.

 _"A threat to the Statute of Secrecy!"_ cried the Ministry man, who seemed as small and frightened as ever.

 _"We agree!"_ both the half-giantess and the betrayer readily followed, their visages twisting, the former taller, grey, and a great deal lumpier, the latter anaemically thin and black-robed, his face gleaming silver.

 _"A dangerous delving into Dark Magic!"_ Albus Dumbledore almost thundered, and at that moment he appeared to be more a terror to hide from than a judge.

The judged convened and after a short discussion they announced, over the impotent protests of Ludo Bagman, that as a potential threat to the Statute of Secrecy and Dark Magic rather than a Charm, the rain of fire was an inappropriate spell for the declared subjects of Harry's group and the contest as a whole. In addition, due to heedlessly damaging the surrounding area, and the allotted time having long since expired, Harry's team would be disqualified, their marks for this task set to zero.

Harry fumed as Dumbledore and the Ministry, the betrayer and the half-breed destroyed his efforts as they always did. The unnatural rain still fell in the background, hissing, bloody water covering the screams and fearful gasps coming from the crowd now. And well they should fear, the useless sheep, for he and his were far greater than them.

Suddenly, the world shifted, was swallowed by a cloud of mist and blood, and was spat out different. There was no sky, no lake, no castle, only darkness. No, not quite. There were great, wood and brick walls rotted and cracked with age, furniture sagging under the weight of many decades of neglect, bronze decorations blackened and marred. The world was suddenly much, much clearer than before, the mist and haze almost entirely absent and yet the eerie silence still oppressive. There was no crowd, cheering, jeering, booing, or screaming. No judges. Firelight gave every cobwebbed, dust-covered surface a sinister gleam that thoroughly unsettled him. Unnerved by the change, Harry turned around to find Daphne to find comfort and support rather than give it. But as soon as he did, he screamed - or tried to. Like the words before them, the cries of horror would not come.

There was no longer a girl at his side but a woman, tall, and black-robed, and imposing. Vibrant yet pale porcelain skin clashed with ebony locks and darker, soul-devouring eyes, and a twisted sneer that tried to mar the woman's features without quite managing it. She held her wand in one hand and a dagger at the other, and from the neck down she was literally drenched in blood; it dripped in fat droplets from her robes only to vanish below Harry's field of vision.

 _"How fare your Divinationss, Bella?"_ a cold, terrifyingly unnatural voice hissed, alien and yet familiar.

 _"Inconclusive, my Lord."_ The woman frowned pensively, the expression making her face more attractive than her previous sneer. _"As in, no results whatsoever."_

 _"Curiousss... the Mark sshowss my loyal servant is where he ssshould be... yet we have no newsss... and now you tell me there is no change in hiss condition."_ The voice continued to scrape against Harry's eardrums, every hiss sending shivers through his spine. He tried to look for the speaker, but he could not see him, could not even turn his head. _"He iss in no pain at an enemy's handss, no fear of hiss fate at a betrayal. This cannot continue! He musst be found! I musst know!"_

 _"Perhaps we should reach to others, my Lord,"_ the woman suggested coyly, almost as if she'd been waiting to make that proposal all along. _"There are many who are still loyal to you, far more loyal than a boy barely out of Hogwarts. And if they are not loyal, they can always be... persuaded."_

 _"Not jusst yet, Bella,"_ the horrible voice countered in what sounded to Harry like the high-pitched nagging of a petulant, horribly misshapen child. _"I have lesss sstrength than I'd have liked desspite your many effortss, though more than I expected. We won't travel jusst yet... but will ssoon."_

 _"Well then,"_ the woman said with both eagerness and a feverish gleam in her eyes. _"If my efforts are not sufficient, I'll have to try... harder."_ And with elegance and vitality that belied her height and apparent lack of athleticism, she lowered herself to the floor to do just that.

A floor that was positively covered in corpses. No, not corpses, Harry realized to his horror. The poor, bloody, mutilated souls that lay naked on the crumbling mansion's floor were still alive - barely. Seeing the professional pride with which the demented sorceress begun carving into them as they moaned piteously, Harry hoped they would not be alive for much longer... but feared they would.

Darkness took the world once more and a boy of fourteen woke up gasping and feverish in the relative safety of Hogwarts, hundreds of miles from the place of horror he had witnessed. The old, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead dripped crimson...


	36. Swinging Cats

**Disclaimer: did Harry, Hermione, or any of their friends in canon ever ask the Room of Requirement for a place to understand how the Room itself worked? If not, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely non-profit.** **xxxx xxxx xxxx** **  
**"Come on Harry, you must have some juicy and embarassing details to share with your Godfather after being 'friends' with three girls for that long." Sirius' knowing grin made Harry go as red in the face as Ron usually was, not to mention wanting to magically vanish on the spot. Why couldn't he have learned the Disillusionment Charm as well as Tracey? And why did he always keep the Invisibility Cloak in his trunk rather than take it everywhere? They'd be great help in avoiding shameless Godfathers, let alone the vast majority of the student population he had reasons to avoid more often than not.

"You got the mousy brunette who loves animals, is good at household magic, and could teach you a thing or ten about being sneaky and causing trouble," Sirius went on despite his Godson's protests, counting with his fingers. "You got the tall, high-society, gorgeous blonde heiress if you don't mind being bossed around - and some people even like it" here he winked at Harry, renewing his huge blush "and you got the muggleborn girl with the brains and the scary talent at magic, which is a bit of a family tradition." Sirius sighed dramatically then, as if lamenting a great loss. "Too bad you don't have a fiery, athletic redhead for the full set - oh, wait! Doesn't your friend Ron have a sister? Fabulous looks and likes Quidditch from what I hear - can't go wrong with that combination."

"Sirius!" Harry yelped, then looked around furtively to make sure they were still alone. If anyone had overheard the subject of their discussion he'd never hear the end of it. Fortunately, he and his Godfather had met on the derelict wooden bridge beyond the Clock Tower, a place rarely frequented by students since it didn't lead to anywhere important. The view of the ravine beneath, coupled with how worn the wooden construction was might have something to do with it, too. "Could we... err... talk about something... anything... else?"

"Seriously?" The tall, grey-eyed wizard with the long, wavy black hair, expertly tailored black robes, and knee-high dragon-skin boots frowned. "I am either losing my mind, or something's wrong with the newest generation. Girls were the only thing James and I were really interested in at your age - them and Quidditch."

"Gee, what else could possibly occupy my mind," Harry retorted, channelling one of the girls Sirius had just mentioned "it's not as if I've been forced to participate in a deadly contest way beyond my abilities... oh wait, I have!" For a moment, he could have sworn he saw both fear and anger twisting his Godfather's face into something ugly, but then the moment was gone and Sirius was as carelessly happy as he'd been since his recovery from the Dementors.

"From what I've heard and seen, you handled the Tournament well enough so far," he said mildly. "As long as you're confident, aware of the risks, and prepared, the Tournament shouldn't be terrible... especially if you pull off a few more crazy plans to keep things interesting, eh?" When Harry failed to react to those dubious words of encouragement, Sirius pulled him into a bone-shattering hug, then pushed him at arms' length and met his eyes, more solemn than Harry had even seen him. "This whole thing's a bad business, Harry, but you aren't alone. You have your friends, your teachers, me - there's loads of people doing their best to keep you safe."

"I know." Harry scowled, his eyes refusing to meet Sirius' pale orbs. "It's just... sometimes it doesn't feel like it, you know? Every year there have been these crazy situations, and every year me and my friends got involved. And always, always there's other students, teachers, even the Ministry who won't listen, or who'll take things wrong, or who'll be gone and we'll have to solve things ourselves. It's..." he trailed off then, leaving the sentence unfinished. Sirius seemed to have heard the ending all the same for he again embraced him fiercely before speaking.

"It's not fair that you've had to go through all those dangerous and scary situations. Guess what? Life isn't fair - my own ten year vacation is proof enough." Sirius gave him an encouraging smile that somehow seemed more real and powerful than any other time Harry had seen him smile. "But Harry, that doesn't mean you don't have people that care for you very much. It might not look like it right now, but Dumbledore, the Hogwarts staff, even the Ministry are working hard to keep you safe. Your friends are there for you, even though their own problems might occasionally overwhelm them. And I will always be there for you... even when you don't see it."

"The not-seeing-you part is becoming annoying," Harry said, happy at his Godfather's words despite his own protestations. "Where do you vanish to all the time? You're nowhere around!"

"Ah, that!" Sirius replied with the air of a man about to divulge one of the great mysteries of life, the universe, and everything. "A curious case involving many Concealment Charms, late-night walks under the moonlight, and the gorgeous sister of a famous Quidditch player..." In the end, Harry had to run for his life only halfway into Sirius' explanation, or at least to preserve his dignity. Then and there he could have sworn he had been the adult and Sirius the irreverent teenager... which was a scary thought indeed.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Sirius stared at his godson's retreating back until it vanished into the Clock Tower courtyard, then sighed. For all that he'd wanted to protect Harry, to shield him from the many dangers in his path above anything else, he knew that there were some things he could not or should not tell him. His secret missions from Dumbledore were one such thing. The situation he'd found himself in was another, if only for Harry's own good.

"You can come out now," he spoke up in the middle of the empty wooden bridge, his gaze falling at a certain place between two wooden beams where the old roof sagged a little. For a few seconds nothing happened, then a patch of empty air seemed to shimmer, a ratty old cloak moving aside to reveal a tall Gryffindor boy with blond-brown hair, and a short brunette in Slytherin green and silver.

"How did you know where we were?" Tracey Davis demanded, almost reluctantly handing over the somewhat worn invisibility cloak at Sirius gesture. "We were under silencing charms, aversion compulsions, a fairly decent secrecy spell, an invisibility cloak, and a Disillusionment Charm to cover where the cloak had started wearing off. How did you notice us?"

"A decade's worth of experience in both stealth and tracking," Sirius told the teenage witch. "Plus I have certain... advantages. The nose always knows."

"Eww..." the girl almost recoiled at that hint. "You cast a Supersensory Charm on your nose?! That's, like..."

"Never mind that now," he interrupted before she could go on, or the Longbottom boy could join the conversation. "Did you succeed?"

"See for yourself." Davis' smirk turned positively nasty as she presented him with a small glass vase, hermetically sealed. "Didn't even notice us coming; I silenced and disillusioned the vase in advance. Made it unbreakable and covered it with spell-resistant varnish too, just in case. Not that she paid any attention to us - too busy eavesdropping on you and Harry."

"Preparation is important," Sirius nodded sagely then picked up the offered container, glaring at the fat green beetle within.

"One privacy-violating, law-breaking, libellous journalist in illegal animagus form, slightly used," Tracey noted with a hint of pride. "What will you be doing with her?"

"That's for me to know, and for you to fantasize about," Sirius quipped, making the young Slytherin giggle and her companion's face to turn crimson. "Miss Skeeter and I are going to have an enlightening conversation, and you can borrow my spare invisibility cloak for up to three six-hour periods, as agreed."

"Thank you for the help, Mister Black," one or the other teen said but Sirius didn't pay them any attention. He was too busy calculating how long he could keep Skeeter in the sealed jar without the little green bug of a reporter dying of asphyxiation... **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Valeria waited in an abandoned classroom on the fourth floor, behind several layers of secrecy spells and with half her attention on the detection charms making sure she was entirely alone. She'd put considerable thought on how to best use Dobby's not-so-little revelation; it was too important to risk being found out early. Thus, when the wall she'd been staring at split and twisted into a lightless passage just large enough for her, she lost no time in internal debate and walked into it at once. A few seconds later, the passage's entrance slipped - almost melted - back into a wall and total darkness fell on the interior. Fortunately, there were spells one could use to see in the dark, and the short, blonde Slytherin had cast one of them before even breaking curfew to come to this part of the castle; it had been far better for subtlety than a wand-light.

After a few hundred steps and several changes in direction that should not have been possible in Hogwarts' normal layout, she came upon another wall that momentarily split into a door as well. Passing through, she found herself in a massive library. Not the one covetously presided over by Madam Pince, the castle's rather peculiar old librarian, but a large, empty, high-ceilinged room full of countless books, tomes, grimoires, and manuals, most of them worn with age and far less well-kept than any book under Madam Pince's care. It would appear that Valeria had discovered a secret library. Appearances, however, could be deceiving, and the room she'd just entered was a far greater work of magic than any library.

When Dobby had first introduced it as the Room of Requirement, or the Come-and-Go Room, her curiosity had been piqued. A room that could become almost anything those entering asked of it? That could not only rearrange its interior, but provide equipment and substances of all kinds per the entrant's wishes? How could such a room work? As with any other wonder of magic, Valeria had wanted, needed to know. And thus the room had first appeared to her as a small, cramped study with a single chair, a desk, and dozens of tomes about some very specific subjects. She'd read them of course, or tried to. Three quarters of the books had been centuries old and written in either Old English or Latin, and the few note-filled folders among them were even harder to decipher. The gist however had been clear enough from the subjects present; variable transformations, layered spatial expansion, and personality investment. Variant transformations were the simplest subject; Professor McGonagal had even shown a few examples in class. To make animated objects wizards had the option of animation charms that conferred perpetual motion, or through complex transfigurations that could move things by changing their shape; the giant chessboard back in first year had been one such. As far as she could tell, the Room had a similar but vastly more powerful and complex spell cast upon it, one that let in reshape its interior to just about anything possible via Transfiguration.  
Space Expansion Charms were more Valeria's area of expertise than Transfiguration, but no student, no matter how brilliant, could have fully understood how layered, optionally activated space expansion not only made the room bigger inside than the outside, but also let it change sizes. Not to mention the small fact that there was more than one extradimensional chamber tied to the same magic, as some spaces the Room of Requirement seemed to be always using, even if they weren't tied to the entrances at all times.  
But the heart of the Room, what allowed it to function? She suspected a simpler version of the same Mind Magic that made up the Sorting Hat, or the Mirror of Erised. Not much in the way of personality, or deeper analysis of people's characters, but more than enough to read their desires and match them both with a shape and the equipment needed to fulfil that desire. For all intents and purposes it was a magical search engine that made any library catalogue, electronic database or even the recently invented web crawlers look like crude, stone-age tools in comparison. It had enormous potential as both a teaching tool and a repository of knowledge... and it had been created over a thousand years before.

Why was such a marvel hidden, rather than used to teach, or even reverse-engineered to be applied to wizarding homes? Had it been concealed by the Founders themselves, or had it been well-known in ages past, only for the knowledge to be lost by unforeseen circumstances? Valeria had seen the Room of Hidden Things, where generations of students must have left behind their own secrets, experiments, and possessions. Many had to have known of the Room's existence - the elves certainly did. And yet, not once had it been mentioned in any book, or even as a rumour. Her own first idea had been to keep it a secret for her own use... did that indicate some sort of spell that ensured the Room's secrecy indirectly? Valeria resolved to share the Room's existence with her friends as soon as practical. There was only the question of how to keep her own secret projects from them, but she had several ideas about that.

The only thing she was waiting for was the return of her Time Turner later in the week. Until then, she could pass the time reading many obscure books on subjects that had been thoroughly scoured from the Hogwarts library... 


	37. Small Steps

**Disclaimer: are wands required for potions even though Snape in canon teach Potions without 'silly wand-waving' and wands were a Roman invention not adapted by many wizarding nations until the 1800s? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. He belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **Small Steps**

Such was the general weirdness level of the Wizarding World that neither an incredibly dangerous tournament where a student had been entered against his will, nor a potential plot by a nigh-immortal Dark Lord managed to disrupt the usual course of classes in Hogwarts. Admittedly, Valeria wasn't sure how many witches and wizards actually knew or believed Voldemort was alive and responsible for Harry's predicament, and as another half-hour of Charity Burbage's extolling the superiority of muggle civilization came to an end, she was sorely tempted to go out, impersonate the Dark Lord and... convince them. Only the consequences of the last time she'd done that, including Hogwarts becoming the target of a Death Eater attack, stayed her hand.

"...and that is how humanity stepped on the moon; not with magic, but with muggle science!" the professor finished with a cheer hardly shared by the rest of the class. After all, the only muggleborn present was Valeria herself, and the majority of students present were purebloods... Slytherin purebloods.

"That explanation was... lacking in substance," Daphne said, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glared at the prop Burbage had used to explain muggle rockets.

"Tell it like it is, Greengrass," the small, too-thin boy on Valeria's left uttered with such cold disdain it was a wonder their shared desk hadn't frozen over. "A stupid muggle toy proving the professor's insanity. How could a balloon take anyone to the Moon!"

"Shut up, Nott! I don't want her coming over here," the muggleborn Slytherin whispered furiously as they packed up their books and scrolls away and took out the muggle devices they'd been working on for months now. "Besides, the balloon is an easy way to show the action-reaction principle as propulsion."

"The what, now?"

"Muggles don't have magic." Valeria rolled her eyes and barely refrained from saying 'duh!'. "In the absence of flight spells, they must move by pushing against something else. Any time you push something it pushes you back; we push the ground to walk or run, birds push against the air to fly, fish push against the water to swim." Valeria unpacked her own project, an ancient-looking muggle gun she'd been improving and repairing with magic. "Do you recall our Astronomy lessons though? What is between us and the Moon?"

"Space. Everyone knows that," Nott replied. Then his eyes widened as he came to the realization. "Muggles can't get to the Moon because they have nothing to push against!"

"Right. That's where the balloon comes in. It contains its own air, pushes it out from its neck, and that in turn propels the balloon forward." Valeria scowled at the century-old revolver on the desk, then shot Burbage a glare the so-called Professor pretended not to see. According to her, their project was to improve a muggle device with magic, not more muggle science. As such, the only tools they were allowed were magical ones, which included measurements and note-taking... and Latin math were a joke. "Muggles don't use balloons of course; they use rockets. They carry fuel much heavier than air so they can work a lot longer, and by burning it explosively it comes out at far greater speeds, propelling them a lot faster."

"Huh." Not took out his own project which, surprise, surprise, involved an old muggle camera. The pureblood scion was just arrogant enough to spend half the lesson taking pictures of himself. "So why did Burbage not say what you just did? I mean, the balloon thing is still silly but at least it makes some sense... in a stupid muggle sort of way."

"Probably because she wanted to avoid explaining why muggles needed rockets." Valeria said off-handedly as she looked critically down the old revolver's barrel. Her latest attempt at an expansion charm had not quite taken; it was only twice as long on the inside as on the outside. "It's only a small step between realizing rockets are just larger, more powerful balloons, and some idiots casting a space expansion charm inside a balloon and launching it to outer space during next Hogsmeade weekend."

"Are you two done wasting time?" Daphne demanded severely as her miniature steam engine puffed smoke in colours decidedly unnatural. "We only have until next week to finish our first improvement!"

The three of them returned to work, each with different thoughts in mind. The tall, blonde heiress was the only one focused on her project at all. The short, blonde muggleborn was fantasizing about beating the horrible shortcomings of muggle "civilization" into their teacher's head with a Beater's bat, while Theo Nott wondered when the mudblood would be sending her entirely hypothetical balloon to the moon, and whether he could get her expelled for it.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Potions class had finally advanced to moderately difficult potions, at least according to the syllabus. Professor Snape didn't seem to think so, given his apparent lack of enthusiasm, and Valeria mostly shared his opinion. From what her research had revealed, the Slytherin Head of House was a veritable genius when it came to potions, the second-youngest ever Potions Master in Magical Britain, and the youngest to be ever hired by Hogwarts. While he had no great discoveries to his name, his contributions in improving existing recipes was substantial. For someone like him, teaching ignorant children had to be a chore... before even his abrasive personality and intolerance of idiocy were taken into account. He didn't seem to like anyone - and Valeria had put considerable effort in his classes to get his attention - but the only people he seemed to hate more than incompetent brewers were those with the Potter name. Whether that attitude was appropriate for a Professor was not Valeria's business to decide; it just made what she was about to do that much more dangerous.

"Many of you would benefit from today's assignment," he uttered on arrival, not bothering with an introduction or taking attendance. If Severus Snape ever missed or forgot a single tardy student in his class, Valeria would eat a dragon - no Ketchup. "Wit-Sharpening potion; perhaps you should begin immediately." With a single flick of his wand the recipe appeared on the blackboard, then he took up position behind his desk like a gaoler waiting to punish misbehaving prisoners. For perhaps the thousandth time, Valeria wondered what spell he used to make the recipe appear. She'd narrowed it down to two possibilities; a transfiguration of empty blackboard to blackboard with recipe, and a dictation spell that reshaped writing material such as the one on the Diary, except with chalk instead of ink. Both would require he visualised the entire recipe at once, though given her Professor's mental skills, she doubted that was a hurdle at all.

The Wit-Sharpening potion was a relatively simple brew that bestowed clarity of thought. Contrary to popular belief, it didn't make one smarter; it diminished distractions, banished confusion, and eliminated errors in critical thinking. The user's mental ability was still up to them - just the best of them. Another use was as a counter to mind-addling magic, such as the Confundus Charm. At least that was what happened if the potion was brewed successfully. Valeria eyed her freshly bought Ginger roots critically. A side benefit of brewing potions for fun and profit was that she frequently had to owl-order new ingredients, and while the quality of Hogsmeade's apothecary wasn't as high as those in Diagon Alley, not keeping ingredients in her private stores for months more than made up the difference. Selecting the best specimen for the experiment, she carefully sliced it with her silver knife in six pieces of as near identical volume as was possible.

The water with the pre-prepared basic herbal mix had reached a nice boil in the copper cauldron. The Slytherin muggleborn had traded up from pewter and brass as her skill increased because copper cauldrons allowed for faster, more efficient brewing. Being a precious metal, copper was also resistant to magical corrosion or transformation to some extent, not to mention its higher melting point. A silver or gold cauldron would have been even better, but would have drawn Snape's attention, something she didn't need while the experiment was still underway. In the boiling blue mixture she added first one slice of ginger, then another, waiting as it turned from blue to a vibrant lime green. That done, she added Armadillo Bile until it turned back into a deeper, darker blue. She didn't bother measuring precisely - measurements beyond the arithmantic significance of some steps could actually ruin a potion. This was because, unlike cooking or Chemistry, potions were magic. The magic of the brewer was a contributing factor and that was why no recipe would ever say three grams of ground beetles instead of three pinches; every potioneer used their pinch just as they used their magic, and even if the absolute quantity differed, it was still correct for that potioneer.

Speaking of which, she took out mortar and pestle, filled it with the right amount of scarab beetles, and started grinding them to a fine paste while the potion simmered. She threw Professor Snape a covert look to make sure he wasn't looking directly at her when she added the paste to the mixture; while she doubted he'd notice anything odd with her paste from such a distance, better safe than sorry. As soon as the paste hit the dark blue draught, there was an immediate reaction. A hiss like acid gnawing upon stone, a sizzle as the paste dissolved entirely and the mixture became a vibrant red the colour of fresh-spilled blood. Just as Ginger had healing properties used in many potions, Scarab beetles were used for their regenerative abilities, believed in ancient Egypt to show the road to reincarnation and immortality. While the bit about reincarnation had been disproven (Riddle had needed no scarabs to get out of the Diary), their regenerative abilities were still used in Potions and Alchemy. Valeria's experiment in this case had been to see whether the potion could be strengthened via ritual sacrifice. Specifically, she'd caught the beetles herself in the Hogwarts grounds, and kept them under a Freezing Charm - the immobilization version rather than the ice making one. So far everything was going well; her potion was more vibrant red and magically potent than ever before.

Raising her head to see whether Professor Snape had noticed, she found out she'd concentrated on her brewing so much she'd missed certain developments. Specifically, a tall, thin man in dark red and black robes, with a pale face, yellowed teeth, unhealthy-looking black hair, and beady black eyes had entered the classroom and was whispering furiously to her Head of House. What in the name of Morgana did Highmaster Karkaroff want with Hogwarts' Potions Master? Just as interesting were Harry's actions. While her Gryffindor friend seemed to be concentrating on his potion, he'd drawn his wand and conjured a tiny snake under his desk. Unlike Alastor Moody or his impostor, neither Snape nor Karkarov possessed magical eyes so they'd missed the new guest. With a quick glance around him to make sure no enemy was watching, Harry tapped it with his wand and it vanished from sight, Disillusioned. Then he whispered something suspiciously close to a Parseltongue hiss and returned to his potion.

Valeria yelped when she realized she'd almost missed the timing for the next step in her own unfinished potion. She added more Armadillo Bile until the liquid was a deep yellow, added two more Ginger roots and left it to boil until it turned lime green, added more Armadillo Bile until it was a deep, glowing purple, then left it to simmer for ten minutes on a smaller fire than normal to account for her copper cauldron's usually faster brewing times. During the waiting period, she cleaned and packed up her scales, washed her silver knife, packaged the remaining Ginger roots and the bottle of Armadillo bile, and scoured her desk of all reagents and ingredient remains with magic before throwing a repairing charm at it to restore it to perfect condition. No silly wand-waving Morgana's tits; Snape was just a sadistic bastard taking pleasure in seeing students clean icky stuff by hand. That, and he wanted them to infuse their magic to the potions wandlessly while brewing rather than casting the spells directly; an excellent primer for more difficult, faster wandless casting later on... if the students knew what they were doing. Given how many times Neville had melted his cauldron over the years despite Valeria's tutoring, she doubted anyone but her did.

Seeing her Professor paying more attention to his visitor than the rest of the class, she bottled a sample of her potion, named it, charmed it unbreakable and sealed to anyone but Snape or herself, then left it for marking. One incident of Pansy Parkinson trying to steal her work was enough, thank you very much. Since Snape not paying attention was a rare opportunity, the rest of the potion she stored for her own use.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx  
**

"Guys, you'll never guess what happened in Potions class!" Harry's worried tone drew the entire group's attention as soon as he arrived at their pre-arranged meeting place in the grounds.

"You mean other than you spying on Professor Snape and Highmaster Karkaroff?" Daphne said half-accusingly, half-worriedly. "Harry, powerful people do not like to be spied upon. What if Professor Snape had noticed?"

"Well, he didn't," Harry said almost dismissively after throwing a glare towards Valeria. Daphne's eyes narrowed at the dismissal and was about to deliver an acidic retort but Harry, typical Gryffindor that he was, talked over her. "And the news is too important; I'm glad I took the risk."

"Someone is not getting lucky until at least his thirties," Tracey mock-whispered sotto voce, causing Ron to cough trying to swallow a laugh and Daphne to glare at them in turn. Harry and Neville went crimson almost immediately; it was kinda cute.

"Can we be serious for once?" Harry demanded. "Karkaroff and Snape were discussing their Dark Marks and how both are getting darker! This is not a laughing matter!"

"Yeah, your dreams kinda already told us mate," Ron spoke up, his face worried. "You-Know-Who and Lestrange are cooking up something really dark and if you being in the Tournament isn't part of their plan I'll eat my cloak." The redhead scowled and went on. "Taking you out and making it look like an accident would be good for him, and not just because you messed up his plans repeatedly. It's also a morale thing, like in Quidditch. Famous player can't play in a match, his entire team will play worse - and that's just from an injury or sickness. And this whole Tournament thing? Lots of wizards all over the world watching. Something bad happens now, magical Britain's name is mud worldwide - like a team caught cheating in the World Cup. Hell, many people already think Hogwarts is cheating - that you are cheating - so they're less likely to help us if something bad happens. 'sides, our own people think it too - just look at the Daily Prophet. Dad says the Ministry's a mess, everyone's scrambling to respond to a second fiasco so soon after the World Cup. If it comes to fighting like with the inferi last year? They won't be nearly organized enough for another big attack."

Silence fell on the group of three Gryffindors and three Slytherins, five people staring at Ron as if they hadn't seen him before.

"What?" the tall Gryffindor demanded. "Wood talked to me about tactics last year; this Tournament stuff is no different."

"That you can say that after the analysis you gave is what makes you you, Weasley," Daphne said while Tracey snorted and rolled her eyes. "Father will be here during Easter holidays; talk to him."

...

"He's coming back, isn't he?" Neville's voice faltered for a moment, then came back stronger. "And that bitch Lestrange is helping him! How do we stop him?" The six friends looked at each other for several minutes, not one of them having a good idea - or one they were willing to share in any case.

"I don't think we could do much," Harry finally said. "I mean, I told Dumbledore and Sirius about the dreams and they're saying they're doing everything they can." He sighed, obviously not satisfied with that reply. "They told me to focus on the Tournament for now, and if Ron's right..."

"Yeah, mate. You not dying is always good." Ron's fake cheerful response failed to raise anyone's spirits. "I guess all we can do is prepare..."

"That... is not entirely correct." Valeria was more than a little hesitant about what she was about to reveal, but Ron's analysis had put things in perspective. She'd known about the Dark Mark getting stronger of course, but seeing how Harry being in the Tournament was such a key part of the Dark Wanker's plot? That she'd missed entirely... probably because she left the politics to Daphne and Tracey. "Since we captured Pettigrew last year... let's just say I've been studying the Dark Mark." That she was still studying it first-hand would just be her little secret. Or rather, secret #41 out of a list of five hundred.

"And there are a few more things we could do to prepare..."


	38. Speaking Up

**Disclaimer: is Slytherin considered the 'evil' house when both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were shown to have even worse bullies several times in canon, and Slytherin was never shown to have inter-house fights and disloyalty? If yes, Harry Potter does not belong to me. He belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 _"Crucio!"_

With reflexes honed in countless hours of Quidditch practice and sharpened to a razor edge in all the dangerous situations he'd been into in Hogwarts and beyond, Harry dodged under the crimson bolt with only inches to spare, the after-image burned into his retinas blinding him momentarily. Coming up again in a rolling leap, he jabbed his Holly and Phoenix feather wand once, twice, thrice, spitting several yellow bolts in retaliation without bothering with the incantation. He knew the Disarming Spell well enough by now that he could save his breath for bobbing and weaving around more enemy attacks and still cast it well enough. Unfortunately, his opponent was too experienced to be taken out by simple spells; two of his attacks were deflected almost contemptuously aside, while the third bounced off a shield that sent it back at him - followed by a vicious counter attack.

 _"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Immobulous! Crucio!"_

Another frantic roll, another two curses dodged at the last moment. While his opponent did not have Harry's reflexes, they more than made it up with accuracy and a relentless assault that didn't give him an opportunity to return fire. The third curse missed as well, but not by much; it still struck Harry's own shield, shattered it, and almost got him too. He scrambled to renew his defense but it was too late; the wide-area Freezing Charm immobilized him just long enough for the last attack to land a direct hit.

"Ow, that stung!" he said, rubbing his chest and scowling at his attacker.

"You deserved it, Potter!" Daphne said, returning the scowl with interest. "You can't expect to fight duels with Disarmers alone!"

"It's just training," he shot back at the Slytherin witch and his supposed girlfriend. What was her problem anyway?

"The problem is that you're not trying! You've yet to use a serious offensive spell in the past hour!" Harry's eyes widened and he scrambled for a denial. Unfortunately for the Gryffindor boy, he was less subtle than he thought... and Daphne had taught him what he knew of subtlety in the first place. "Did you think I wouldn't notice how you flinch every time even a simple Knockback Jinx hits? I am not made of porcelain, you idiot! You wouldn't want me for a girlfriend if I was."

"Daphne, I..."

"Shut up! What did you think we'd be doing when you asked for more Duelling practice?" The tall blonde jabbed her wand at him like a sword in accusation. "You can't learn how to fight dark wizards without actually fighting dark wizards. Your idiotic Gryffindor chivalry is not only harmful to you but also demeaning to me." She shot him one last withering glare before walking away. "I have History essays to finish. Don't bother me unless you're ready to take both this and me seriously." The room's door banged closed with a bit more force than absolutely necessary. A few seconds later, it had melted into the wall as if it'd never existed.

Harry stared at the empty stretch of wall Daphne had disappeared through, groaned, then turned to his closest friend. Ron was lounging on a four-posted bed large and gold-studded enough to belong in a palace, reading a book on Duelling tactics that had been used on real battlefields throughout history. Out of their entire group, the redhead had been the most impressed with the Room of Requirement's ability to provide just about any physical comfort he could imagine in addition to all the books and exercise equipment they'd needed.

"Girls are barmy," Harry finally stated after about a minute of silence, then collapsed on a nearby armchair. Dodging Unforgivables was not fun, even if the Cruciatus only dealt as much pain as the caster meant it to. He wondered for a moment whether that last hit stinging as much as a slap to the face meant Daphne wasn't as mad as she'd looked. Then he remembered she was a girl and a Slytherin and wisely decided not to ask, or try to approach her at all.

"Preaching to the choir here, mate," Ron agreed without taking his eyes off his book. "Say... d'you reckon there are books about understanding girls the Room can give us?"

"You two do realize I can still hear you, right?" A girl's voice asked dryly from across the room. Its short, dark blonde owner looked up from several sheets of calculations and the broken remains of a few mirrors to mock-glare at them. "If you want to be cursed with permanent, clothing-limited invisibility feel free to keep this up."

"Hey, it's not our fault you can't make the mirrors work." Ron shot back at Valeria, still not bothering to look up. The last time Harry had seen Ron that interested in a book, they'd been researching Nicholas Flamel.

"I am barmy, Ron, remember?" the Slytherin muggleborn widened her eyes comically and gave them a grin that made her look crazy... or crazier. "I can accuse you - and boys in general - of anything I want."

"How is the mirror project going, actually?" Harry asked not only to change the subject but because he was actually interested. According to Valeria there were similarities between the two-way mirrors and the Dark Mark, and studying both had filled in many gaps in her understanding of the theory behind them. He took the girl's word for it; Harry had no gaps to fill since he didn't understand the theory at all.

"I can now cast the Protean Charm!" Valeria claimed. When he and Ron didn't react to that triumphant declaration, her face fell and she sighed. "Gryffindors! Expecting you to have read _Charms of Space and Time_ was too much?"

"Well duh!" Ron piped up. "This year is hard enough without adding reading seventh-year textbooks to the workload."

"How'd you know what the book was?" Harry blurted in surprise, his mental image of Ron taking another hit.

"Because insufferable know-it-alls bring weird stuff like that up all the time?"

What followed was a brief but really loud argument where Harry tried to defend Ron, Ron tried to explain he'd meant his brother Percy, and Valeria tried to make Ron believe he was a giant slug for the rest of his life. In the end, enough Shield Charms and running away really fast won the day, though Valeria claimed Ron was close enough to a giant slug her spells couldn't find anything to change.

"So... about that Protean Charm..." Harry started tentatively after the three of them had caught their breaths. Running, shouting, and casting at the same time was exhausting.

"It's a spell... that links objects together... so changes can be transferred between them," Valeria explained with a groan from where she was lying on the four-poster bed the Room had made for them. Apparently, enchanting was at least as tiring as duelling. "Shape, texture, temperature, colour... even magic if the caster is strong enough. In Two-Way Mirrors it exchanges light and sounds... what falls on the paired reflective surfaces. In the Dark Mark... joined with other magic, it can transfer a lot more... not only on everyone linked but to individual targets... or Riddle even though he isn't marked. Passwords to magical defenses, apparition coordinates, summons, alarms, magical punishment... there's probably more I haven't discovered yet."

"And the problem?"

"I can link more than just pairs of objects, but only for sound or temperature. Every time I try images, the spell snaps - violently." She pointed at the broken mirrors on her desk, all of them obvious failures. One of them had even melted, while another had been reduced to a blackened, charred lump.

"Val... this is really advanced magic, right?" Harry spoke up as he noticed how disappointed his friend really was. He hadn't seen it before but the tone of her voice... the exhaustion... she was the first to come to the Room of Requirement every day, and the last of them to leave. In fact, except for when she'd shown them the Room, Harry had never seen her enter or leave. "Nobody expects you to get it right the first time - or the first dozen times. Even Dumbledore and Voldemort were students once."

"Yeah, like a bazillion years ago!" Ron added with a laugh. "Can you see Dumbledore as a student? Reckon he had the beard back then?" Harry shot Ron a look that said 'not helping' as loudly as he could without actually speaking. Of course, Ron either didn't notice or ignored it.

"Thanks for trying to cheer me up Harry, but the spell being too advanced isn't the problem." The short Slytherin witch twirled her thick wand like a cowboy with a gun, thick yellow sparks flying from its tip. Where they fell the stone floor sizzled and smoked, the acrid smell worse than many a spoiled potion. "I am the problem, or rather my magic; it likes the flashy stuff. Boiling a lake is simpler than McGonagal's class, and the mirrors are far more delicate than both... still, three days of effort were not entirely wasted."

She flicked her wand at the desk and half-dozen small beads came flying into Harry's hands. If beads were fuzzy, the colour of flesh, and warm to the touch. Held in his palm they were heavier than they looked, as if he was holding Galleons rather than beads. Beyond that, they showed no indication of what they could do or how to use them. He shot Val a questioning look and the girl smiled.

"They are earplugs, Harry; hence the fuzziness. Put one of them in an ear and you could hear any sounds in other beads' locations."

"So... like a walkie talkie? I could speak to one and anyone wearing another would hear?"

"...sure, let's go with that. Except you don't need to speak to it directly; it picks up what an ear could pick up - or rather, what an earplug would block."

"Wait, does it need to be carried to pick up stuff?" Ron asked, dropping his book and showing interest for the first time. "Could we drop one in, say, the Professors' lounge and listen in?"

"An excellent idea..." Valeria said, eyebrows arching in mock surprise. "...for a giant slug."

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

When Valeria saw the changes in the Slytherin table in the Great Hall the following morning, she realized it had been weeks since she last sat with her fellow Housemates in green and silver. The Durmstrang contingent had retreated to the far end of the table to sit with the seventh-years, and Krum was nowhere to be seen. The former didn't particularly surprise the muggleborn witch, not since the trouble with the Black Lake must have affected Durmstrang's ship at least a little. As for the latter, perhaps Karkaroff was protecting his champion from the terrible muggle-spawned horror, or somesuch nonsense. Stranger ideas than that went through the minds of wizards on a daily basis, after all. No, it was the changes in her fellow Slytherins that surprised her the most.

Astoria, Daphne's little sister, huddled shivering around a cup of steaming cocoa, her head all but vanished under a face-concealing hood. In her left and close enough to hug sat Draco Malfoy, as usual. Unlike all previous occasions however, the Malfoy scion did not seem at all discomfited by the proximity of the aggressively possessive chatterbox of a girl. If anything, he seemed almost... protective? An even greater surprise were the Creevey brothers, who were sitting next to the Carrow twins in defiance of tradition and House divisions. All four of them were shooting occasional glares towards the Gryffindor table, but their anger was nothing before Mafalda's. The usually distant and aloof firstie was glaring at the Lions with such vehemence that if looks could kill, the lot of them would already be inferi.

"OK, I'll bite," Valeria said as she sat down and started heaping up bacon, eggs and toast on her plate. "What's up with all the doom and gloom? Also, who has the mushrooms?"

"Nice of you to join us, Campbell," Yaxley shot back at the younger girl over a bowl of sautéed Gypsy mushrooms. "Now go away."

"Yeah, right." Summoning the bowl with a gesture, Valeria added a generous helping to her plate before returning it in the same way. If Diary-Riddle hadn't been just bragging, she needed a lot more practice to catch up with his wandless abilities in anything other than fire. Making a point was important too. But most importantly, she hadn't eaten for fourteen hours and sneaking into the kitchens could happen only so often without drawing suspicion. "Seriously though, what's going on?"

"Why don't you ask Greengrass and Davies?" an upperclassman she'd never talked to before asked. "They're bound to return from Professor Snape's office... oh, by Easter I reckon." Yaxley giggled stupidly at that, but most everyone else either scowled or had schooled their faces in patented Slytherin indifference.

"That's it!" The muggleborn witch dropped her fork and turned towards the blond pureblood dandy. **"Tell me what happened, Malfoy."**

"Astoria duelled Andrew Kirke from Gryffindor the day before yesterday," Draco intoned woodenly, his angry glare only slightly diminished. "Like every sore loser Gryffindor ever, Kirke got an upperclassman to ambush Astoria yesterday. McLaggen was stupid enough to gloat and Greengrass and Davies took exception. He is in the infirmary to regrow his nose. Professor Snape is regrowing the girls' fingers in the dungeons after the other Gryffindors cursed them in the back. They also got a week's detention."

Astoria whimpered under her hood, and Valeria saw tears. None of the other Slytherins responded nastily to the younger girl's plight, which was not how the House normally behaved in the young muggleborn's experience. That was when she noticed something about Daphne's younger sister, or rather didn't.

"Stori, why didn't you regrow your hair?" she asked and was rewarded with more tears.

"You've been friends with Greengrass for years and you don't know?" Malfoy had returned to his usual self now that the compulsion to answer had ended, only with an extra-large dose of scorn. "Healing doesn't work well on Astoria due to a family curse." For a moment, the murderous anger he showed as he glared at the Lions' table matched Mafalda's, his knuckles bone-white as he gripped his fork hard enough to bend. "Professor Snape says it'll take a week for the potions to work."

In that instant, something that Valeria had never expected to happen did; she and Draco Malfoy agreed on something absolutely. Unlike the pureblood heir though, no notions of propriety or politics stopped her as she drew her wand. She only paused to confirm neither Dumbledore nor Snape were in the Great Hall before drawing upon a certain urge that resided in everything, the one that saw children burning ants with a magnifying glass, teenagers laugh at the pain of others, and grown men bring themselves and others unto ruin. Not because of hate, or anger, or love, but because destruction was as much a part of life as creative thought. That desire she paired with her intent to see the bullies that thoughtlessly hurt a younger girl suffer, then added words to the curse she made;

"Omne trium perfectum!"

There was nothing to see for true curses were subtle things, but none in Slytherin missed the ominous weight of something silent and unseen flying out towards the Gryffindor table. Whether the Durmstrang students had paid any attention to the drama, they kept on acting as if nothing had happened.

"Rule of Three," Valeria nodded at Astoria with some satisfaction. "Whoever hurt you will reap what they sowed times three. It's linked to you, Stori, so if anyone wants to break it they'll have to also cure you; Dumbledore might as well do something useful instead of just warming the seats of his many positions."

The mood in the Slytherin table improved considerably after that, and for a few days there were no clashes between the blood purists and the group forming around the muggleborn prodigy. Those that were more interested in their studies than House or blood politics took advantage of the short-lived cease fire to do what students in a school were supposed to be doing and actually study, for the next Task in the Tournament was coming up and things were bound to become explosively hectic...

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"...so that's the situation," Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and leader of the small group concluded. "The Merpeople absolutely refuse to allow intruders in their underwater community, Igor is blaming Hogwarts for ruining the agreed upon Fourth Task, and Olympie Maxime agrees with him. The Minister is under too much pressure to offer support or even grace us with her presence, and the pureblood-controlled Departments are dragging their heels anywhere they can get away with it."

"What do you people feed students nowadays?" a tall, aristocratic-looking man with long black hair and silver eyes said, ignoring the elbow digging into his side as well as the glares from the equally dark-haired, dark-robed, very pretty young woman on his right. "I want to know what it is so the House of Black can patent it," he continued, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Mayhem-in-a-box; a genuine Marauder recipe. It'll run Zonko's out of business."

"Sirius Orion Black!" the fierce-looking witch in the emerald dress almost shouted, hair beginning to slip from its tight bun to give her a fierce but harried look. "Don't think you're too old for me to give detention! We have enough trouble as it is, without troublemaking alumni encouraging the newest generation."

"Don't waste your breath, Minerva. Black has proven time and again how little he cares for the well-being of others, let alone the consequences of his ill-thought actions." The even taller, dark-robed man with the pale skin said with a truly impressive sneer. His hair were dark and long like Black's, but looked limp and greasy, and his teeth and nails were yellowed as if by age - or uncontrolled Dark Magic. Beady black eyes glared hatred back at pale silver, hate that was returned in almost equal measure. "Situations such as this is what he lives for and solving them is both beyond his ability and against his character. It begs the question of why he is even here, does it not?"

"I've summoned all of you here Severus because an answer needs to be found and you are all capable people I trust," Dumbledore interjected before the argument could devolve any further. The usual gleam was absent from his piercing blue eyes, their usual intensity duller than usual. "This Tournament is not only a magical event of international significance, but is quickly becoming a point of contention in the Ministry and beyond, as well as being influenced by forces moving unseen. However much Olympie Maxime pretends otherwise, Igor Karkaroff has seen the signs and is clearly worried... as he should. It is no time for arguments among us but unity, for cooperation is our greatest advantage now. Alas, the show must go on both due to politics and magical contracts. Any ideas?"

Sirius Black, Minerva McGonagal, Severus Snape, Megan Jones, and Rubeus Hagrid fell silent. Glances were exchanged, heavy with meaning and emotion, both good and ill. Albus Dumbledore wished - not for the first time - that he could have brought more of the Professors into his full confidence. With Alastor Moody still not fully recovered from his recent ordeal and understandably paranoid about everyone and everything, few in Hogwarts were safe to trade ideas with. And however intelligent one might be, however secretive he was forced to be by circumstances, one courted failure if he remained alone with his own thoughts. The muggles called it the House of Mirrors, the situation where when one only saw their own ideas and thoughts eventually lost touch with the world, seeing only twisted reflections of reality like a kid in a hall full of curved reflective surfaces.

Unfortunately, a large faction within the Hogwarts staff was firmly apolitical, and had been since the war with Grindelwald. In Filius Flitwick's opinion, Hogwarts was a school first and everything else a distant second, and the purpose of any school was knowledge and knowledge alone. Pomona Sprout agreed with him, as did several others. They would fight to defend Hogwarts and its students fiercely indeed, but took no part in politics or battles beyond. A commendable dedication to their position, if naive in Dumbledore's opinion. Still he respected their reasons, some of which were as valid as his own. Which brought him full circle to this little dark room, far from his usual office, holding council behind a panoply of concealment and secrecy spells. Such was the reality of war - and it was war, if only one among his supporters truly believed that for now.

"Headmaster, I think we have a plan." The voice shook Albus out of his introspection and back to the matter at hand.

"Yes, what is it Severus?"

"There is not much time to build a new gauntlet from scratch, underwater or otherwise. But we have a dangerous forest right in our doorstep, do we not?" The Potions Master's eyes positively glowed in anticipation. "Hagrid tells me he can volunteer some of his... experiments, there are certain brews I could contribute, and we could ask Pomona for some help too. If the Tasks are about important aspects of the Wizarding World, how about the Arts modern wizards and witches often ignore in favour of silly wand-waving?"

A pause, a silent moment filled with interest and approval from the rest of them. Then Severus Snape spoke up once more in his near-whispered drawl.

"And there are ways... to make the Task more... interesting..."


	39. Interruptions

**Interruptions**

Parchment rolls littered the desk, filling up the space between old, musty tomes from the Hogwarts Library and several folders of handwritten notes. A lasting candle floated above, slowly growing to keep feeding the flame, droplets of molten wax vanishing to nothing as soon as they fell. The desk's current occupant sighed in frustration, then stretched away from his work. Things were going... slowly. Once upon a time he'd have been up till the early hours of the morning planning and plotting, creating something new, exhaustion forgotten in the excitement of the work and the boundless energy of youth. Now... a mere hour past midnight, and he was already considering calling it a night. When had he grown old?

To take his mind off the responsibility he'd willingly shouldered - more fool, he - he stared at the candle. The magic on it was simple, not in the spellwork itself but the ideas behind it. Archaic, almost pedestrian. Why candles? There were other ways to make light, both simpler and more elegant, that even a first-year student could manage. Those were his thoughts upon seeing the Great Hall for the first time, so many years ago. As an accident of his birth, the extravagance of the Welcoming Feast had been hardly unusual. As a consequence of his upbringing, candlelight had struck him as uncouth and plebeian. Despite his choices, his family and name had still bound him in ways only now he could see. Most of them, anyway; arrogant he might be, but not so arrogant as to believe he truly knew himself. But he was learning. Just as he had learned the reasoning behind the candles. For all that their function was enhanced through magic, the flame itself was non-magical. And in many ways, when it came to magic, what was natural and real was important in ways that a simple Charm to fashion light was not.

A good principle, that. One he could use in a novel design, perhaps. Picking up one of the used parchments, he vanished his previous, failed work and started drawing anew. The Ministry wanted international magical cooperation? Perhaps importing a few goods from, say, Peru might do it. And if the old families bankrolling this whole thing had to pay a bit more in expenses... well, sucked to be them. He knew Snape, at least, would bill them for all the ingredients he could get.

"Sirius... come back to bed..."

The voice was young, female, and beautiful as few things had been after his long vacation in the worst prison in the Wizarding World. Almost against his will, Sirius Black turned around to look at his... what? Girlfriend? No, too casual. Fiancée? He'd sworn to never get married after Reggie's death; the House of Black would go to Nymphie and her future kids if he could convince Andromeda to take up the name, or Harry if his Godson showed any interest. Sirius was too afraid to ask... just as he was too afraid to truly consider what the gorgeous woman on the four-poster bed was to him. A decade younger than him, a recently graduated Hit-witch, and the same blending of curves and athleticism that made her more famous twin such a well-known Quidditch player. Just then she was just annoyed Sirius was not in bed with her; he could tell from the angry gleam in her brown eyes, the frown on those kissable lips, her fists resting on her hips.

"Sorry love," he said, scowling at the stacks of parchment, half of it full of failed ideas, almost half still empty, and a depressingly small stack ready for implementation. "I really, really need to have these ready for tomorrow."

"Sirius Orion Black! If you do not come to bed in the next minute, I will be implementing my sister's suggestions on how to deal with you." Hestia glared at him challengingly, almost daring him to disobey. Somehow her wand had vanished from its place in the bedside cabinet, only to reappear in her hand ready to apply all those creative suggestions from Gwenog Jones. No wonder the famous leader of the Holyhead Harpies had yet to find a partner. "Besides," Hestia continued, her expression softening, "you're dead on your feet. Will you really get any work done if you stay up?"

"You don't get it," Sirius said looking back at all the work he'd yet to do and pretending to miss Hestia's returning scowl. "Harry is taking part in this bloody contest. If I can make just this one task harmless to him yet still acceptable to the organizers, I have to try. Every time my Godson has to risk his life while the bastard who forced him to participate is laughing in the dark, undiscovered and unpunished..." Sirius had to be more tired than he knew because he lost control, his wand spitting sparks and almost putting what little he'd managed to make so far on fire.

"Harry has people to help him, you know." She didn't have to add 'people other than you'; Sirius heard it anyway, and it made him angry.

"He does, does he? Let's see," He begun counting on his fingers. "None of them are qualified. All of them are teenagers, and I know very well how badly their ideas can backfire. Half of them are Slytherins too, dark witches in the making."

"Yes, because every Slytherin is twisted and evil," Hestia retorted dryly, then raised an eyebrow questioningly. That gave Sirius pause; in his experience, that was the expression girls used when they were about to do something very bad to you and thoroughly enjoy it. "Are you sure you aren't overreacting because one of them is Harry's girlfriend? Need I remind you how many conquests you boasted of at his age? Shamelessly enough, I might add, that McGonagal overheard you, frequently enough that she remembers still, and plausibly enough that she had to share the story with me?"

"It wasn't Harry's girlfriend that damn near boiled the Black Lake!" Merlin, witches were plain crazy. He bet Voldemort hadn't done something near that dangerous as a kid. And McGonagal had shared stories about him with Hestia? How much had the Scotchwoman drunk during the feast? "That girl is a dark witch if I ever saw one. Not evil per se... just... off her rocker. I don't want Harry relying on her advice."

"You're too worked up to think clearly, Sirius," Hestia insisted. "The planning session isn't until the evening, right? You'll have all day tomorrow to finish your contributions."

For a moment Sirius was tempted to do just that, leave everything for later. Had he not done exactly the same with both schoolwork and trainee Hit-wizard chores too many times to remember? The temptation intensified when the bed sheet slipped, revealing his girlfriend in all her glory from the waist-up. Her little smirk precluded any possibility of that being an accident, and for a moment Sirius' gaze fixed on her bare breasts. Then he remembered that he was older now... that he had responsibilities.

"I am sorry, love. But this is for Harry." He turned back to his work.

"Of all the brainless, brick-headed, mulish things..." she muttered angrily, then hurled off the sheets and got up, becoming a lot more distracting in the process.

"Hestia... what?"

"Shut up, you oaf!" She quickly dressed in a loose robe, conjured a bit of water and splashed in on her face, then marched up to him and the desk. He was convinced she'd simply blow all the parchments and tomes up and then he'd have to explain to Madam Pince why her precious books were damaged, but Hestia only conjured a chair next to his and sat down.

"If you're serious about this - no, shut up - I am going to help you. Two heads are better than one. Besides, I - unlike you - have not had a long stint in Azkaban to recover from still... and also unlike you, I am still young enough to pull an all-nighter." She glared at him fiercely. "So shut up, sit down, and tell me what we need to do."

Not for the first time in his life, Sirius did as he was told. For the first time, he was actually grateful for it.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

 _Cave Inimicum! Homenum Revelio! Specialis Revelio! Exalto Sensam! Repello Inimicum! Protego Horribilis!_

He did not utter the words as he walked under the towering, gnarled trees, his cloak catching on the undergrowth, but he thought them, and the meaning behind them. After so many years, there was little difference between thought and word, intent and magic. He would be warned of threats even as he knew all who approached regardless of disguise. He would know spells nearby even as his hearing pinpointed the source of every sound for three hundred paces, his sense of smell matched that of a bloodhound, and his sight slid around corners and obstacles or even behind his own back, whine noticing details both too small and too far. Those wishing him harm would find their approach barred even as the strongest magical shield he could cast, one that would normally be raised over large buildings, wrapped around his form to reflect hostile magic. And those were just his direct, obvious precautions.

There were no words to match the spells on the rolling rocks that followed quietly in his wake, the animation spells designed as non-verbal to begin with. Harder to cast, but much more difficult for others to learn, analyse, and counter if there was no incantation to work with; an acceptable trade-off. They were also silenced, invisible, and left no tracks, on the reasoning that what his enemies did not know would hurt them. Just in case though, he had spelled them against vanishing, transformation, banishment, and freezing and, an addition to his usual precautions, Confunding. The last time he had not done so he found himself locked up in a trunk for months; never again!

Alastor Moody knew what others said about him. That he was paranoid, that he saw dark wizards everywhere, that he could not tell friend from foe. He challenged everyone that had lost as many body parts as he had to the Dark Arts to be nearly as calm as he was, as willing to continue facing the bastards that would destroy the Wizarding World if left to perpetuate their foulness. The witch and wizard in the street, they did not understand. Oh, broken bones? Fixed in a jiffy. A limb loped off? Painful, but the Reversal Squad will reattach it. Potions accidents? Burns? Nearly blow themselves up trying to find the secret Floo Powder recipe? No need to worry; just a trip to St. Mungo's and everything will be OK. Bloody civilians! How many witches and wizards who had grown up with magic fixing their mistakes understood, truly understood, that the Dark Arts couldn't be fixed like that? Hexes lingered, Curses festered, and the truly dark stuff even grew every moment they were left untreated. Most Healers could regrow limbs but couldn't fix so much as a scratch dealt by a dark wizard who really meant to hurt you. Their intent remained, infused the wounds they dealt you, opposed the intent of any healer that tried to fix you up. To that add the fact that many curses were variable, their effects shaped by their caster, or even entirely invented on the spot... it was why Aurors retiring with all their limbs were rare. Moody and others put life and limb on the line for others and those they protected dared to call them paranoid?

He walked out of the woods, in the narrow patch of land between the forest and the lake. Like the stones in his wake he was... not quite invisible but close. He'd never quite gotten the hang of truly turning himself invisible without an Invisibility Cloak or other enchanted item, let alone doing so with a thought; one of the few things he was jealous of Albus for. Unlike many, he had never wanted the man's power for he knew the weight of responsibility would have crushed him, but to wander unseen and unheard whenever he felt like it... a bloke could dream, right?

No, daydreaming was useless. Especially with an entire square mile of ground to canvas. He marched on, concentrating on his detection spells, searching every inch of ground for anything that should not be there. One hour passed, then another... then something entered the limits of his detection range when he was about to call it a night. The semi-retired Auror smiled in anticipation and his ruin of a face would have been scary indeed if anyone could see it. Trusting on the defenses he had already raised, he approached his quarry with no further spellcasting so as to avoid warning them. He walked from stone to stone, avoiding grass, mud, or even wood where he could, putting fully mundane but still useful woodcraft and stealth skills to work.

Yes, yes! There was someone there. Concealed and shielded like Alastor himself, but lacking his woodcraft skills. They did not leave a path, a Charm erasing all tracks they left, but that did not prevent him from noticing when tracks were first made. Amateurs... but perhaps dangerous ones. They had obviously taken a lot of magical precautions to sneak around the castle's grounds without anyone noticing. Their shield felt strange too; of average strength at first glance... yet Alastor sensed a lot of magic behind it. He was about to get closer, strike at them from behind, when the unseen figure stopped. Another rookie mistake, that; an experienced wizard who'd made the Auror following them would not react at all, merely prepare more defenses and get ready to react instantly. When they were finally confronted, they'd have a better chance of either putting up a fight or fleeing than the idiot who just stood there trying to see what their tail was doing.

Rolling his one remaining eye, Moody snapped up his wand and fired a Greater Stunner, the silver bolts Albus loved to use in less serious fights. Unlike the commonly used Stupefy, the caster could render their victim unconscious for exactly as long as they wanted to up to twenty-four hours, and the spell had a great deal more magic behind it, making it much harder to block or deflect. With the Supersensory Charm more than making up for his lost eye Moody's aim was true, the silver bolt striking directly at the unseen figure. There was the crack of a failing shield, then Moody grunted as his own defense took his own reflected attack. Interesting; a failed shield should not have reflected an attack, but did. Unseen crooked smile widening, Alastor ran after the fleeing invisible figure.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Not on his own, of course. Losing his leg at the end of the last war had limited his mobility, and while there were ways around that, Alastor trusted none of them. He'd never been comfortable with brooms either, but as the unseen figure vanished in the distance, he did not have to. A silver ram, the very image of the one carved on top of his walking stick, galloped after the fleeing enemy. Nothing, not even a Phoenix, could outrun a Patronus. They reached the intended recipient in a few seconds no matter the distance... or the protections. Patronii could be used to reach into as secure places as Azkaban or the most heavily defended wizarding homes because they shared one trait with the Unforgivables; no magic blocked them. Normally, they passed through protections without disturbing them at all, but Moody had meant his Patronus to follow the unseen enemy, be a marker so Moody could hunt them. In short, the Patronus was a hostile spell to its target and as such, the defenses tried to stop it. Connected with his Patronus, Alastor felt them snapping one by one as the silver ram literally rammed its intended target. He mentally directed the Patronus to follow the still invisible figure really close, then he leaped.

Alastor Moody might not be able to Apparate within Hogwarts, but he didn't need to. A simple non-verbal _Ascendio_ followed by an equally silent levitation and he was hanging invisibly in mid-air. A split second later, he shot a stunner directly at his Patronus. He did not need to get his bearings or aim carefully, for the Patronus was an extension of himself and he knew exactly where it was as well as he could find his own hand. And the silver ram was exactly on top of his quarry, marking their location and blinding them to incoming attacks with its brightness. Against such an inexperienced opponent, the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

Moody was annoyed when instead of a would-be saboteur of the next Task or a dark wizard searching for hapless victims he found a certain uppity, irreverent, trouble-making fourth-year Slytherin girl... but not terribly surprised.

Fortunately, he knew exactly what to do with an unconscious Miss mugglebon-dark-witch without ruining the rest of his evening...

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"This has gone on long enough, Severus!" Minerva McGonagal hissed to her fellow Head of House, face red and hands shaking in anger.

"If you're referring to your Gryffindors' blatant disregard for the rules and penchant for cursing people in the back while outnumbering them at least three to one, I quite agree," Severus Snape retorted calmly. "Why, it has been happening for twenty-three years, has it not?"

"You insufferable, biased, overbearing... bah! Just look at them!" She pointed at one of the three occupied desks in the class used for the evening's detention, and its two hairless, miserable occupants. "Look at what your precious students did! Poppy can't cure them; she already tried. Cursing other students is not tolerated in Hogwarts, as you should know very well."

"Indeed." Severus Snape glared at the bald Weasley Twins, the dunderheads ultimately responsible for tonight's debacle. "What I see is two troublemakers finally enduring the consequences of their actions. I tested them thoroughly, as did you. The spell upon them is not harmful at all... not unless they hurt the one it was intended to protect. The Ministry, in its infinite wisdom, labels such an enchantment Dark Magic. Personally, I see it as just deserts."

"Dark Magic is not an appropriate response to a schoolyard jinx, the horrible results of which were a honest mistake." The Head of Gryffindor shook her head, anger warring with sadness. "An eye for an eye ends with everyone blind."

"And what do you propose, Minerva? Letting the culprits remain unpunished? Punishing those who supported the victim," here he looked at the other three occupants in the room "whoever they might be?"

"We both know who is responsible for two more students not only losing every hair in their body but also suffering a severe nervous breakdown and an allergy to healing magic," Minerva shot back. "Young Miss Greengrass' condition was unintentional. Not even we knew of the Greengrass family curse, that she would not respond to conventional Healing. The retaliation was very much intentional."

"Do we?" Severus challenged. "Is there evidence tying anyone to Messrs Weasley condition? Is there proof that the curse was cast afterwards as retaliation, rather than in advance as deterrent?"

"Why are you covering troublemakers, Severus?" The old Scotchwoman seemed to deflate, showing all her sixty years more like a muggle than with the vitality of a witch. "This is not like you. You have always punished blatant rule-breaking severely in the past. What changed?"

"Changed, Minerva?" Severus smirked, his face twisting into a grimace that did not show a hint of mirth. "It is because very little has changed that I act as I do. To prevent history from repeating itself, to stop the utter stupidity of a few from risking the health and possibly the life of others... that is why I act as I do. I do not want to see the Weasleys punished any further, but neither will I lift a finger to alleviate the punishment they've brought upon themselves. After all, the results will only be passing. They should survive this debacle of their own doing."

"I see." The older Professor stared at Severus for a few moments, then nodded. "And what of the... others? It is fair that both sides are punished for their wrongdoing."

"They will be punished." Severus Snape looked at the three girls and one boy in silver and green, those becoming the focus of his attention cringing as if wishing they vanished into the ground. "They will learn the value of law-abiding conduct, discretion, and common sense or suffer my... displeasure."

The Potions Master waited for the Head of Gryffindor and the twin monsters masquerading as her students to leave... then addressed some monsters of his own.

"Malfoy, Greengrass, Davies, detention. You will be working under Professor Sprout's direction to produce the ingredients for all healing potions to be used by the... victims of this debacle." He ignored the groans, mostly from Malfoy and Greengrass. Davies looked actually excited to be doing hard work with potentially lethal magical plans. Then again, most teenagers thought they were invincible; it was part of what made them so stupidly reckless as to cause situations like this one. "Now get out of my sight."

They went, leaving him alone with what was possibly the worst... and best of the lot. Monsters were like that when young; it was by maturing that they became one or the other.

"A greater curse, if evidence of the caster's identity is found, is punishable by a minimum of one decade in Azkaban." He shot the little blonde beast his best - and worst - glare. "What do you have to say to that?"

"That the Ministry's laws are idiotic?" Campbell shrugged. "I mean, one only has to destroy Azkaban entirely and suddenly a lot of actions become legal. And all because the Ministry doesn't have the stomach to say 'Oh, we are giving people up to soul-sucking, mind-raping demons for all but the smallest of crimes and/or when we feel like it, no trial required.'"

"Foolish child. Do you take nothing seriously?" Personally, Severus thought otherwise. He knew acting when he saw it, was practised enough in dissembling to see the darkness stirring in the young witch's mind. He did not know whether the Weasleys would have ever recovered from some of the punishments he could see in the girl's surface thoughts. He did not know if she meant them and only restrained herself for convenience's sake either, and that was the reason he was ambivalent about all this.

"What were you doing when Alastor Moody captured you?"

"With all respect Professor," the little miscreant said disrespectfully "I don't believe that's your business. Spells are only forbidden in the corridors between classes, not the grounds, and neither Disillusionment nor defensive spells are in any way illegal or against the rules. I was not outside during curfew, or within the Forbidden Forest itself."

"Yes, very clever." He rolled his eyes. "If you used only half of that intelligence for your actual lessons, you'd have the highest grades in the past fifty years. Also, detention."

"For?"

"Your lack of discretion. Half the Slytherin table saw you casting the curse; even if they are not willing witnesses now, the secret can still be gleaned from their minds." Not to mention them changing their minds about keeping the secret in the future. "You seem to believe Dark Magic is a toy, to be used frivolously for every little thing. I want fifty thousand words on ways Charms and Transfiguration can be used in lieu of Dark Magic for equal or greater effect, to be handed to me by the end of the week. No, don't protest - we both know you can do it in your copious spare time. Dismissed."

As the girl marched off the classroom, Severus wondered when the school, had failed. When had Hogwarts become a place that stifled the exceptional and the ambitious, and invariably turned them towards the darkness? It had certainly been before his time, or that of all those who'd become Death Eaters. Was the Dark Lord indirectly responsible, or did the blame fall on somebody else?

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

She stalked through the narrow, dark, dirty streets with confidence despite being an obvious stranger. Young, blonde, muggle clothing, she clashed badly with the shabbily dressed old witches and wizards in their worn black robes, wide-brimmed hats, and obvious weirdness. That nobody had accosted her yet was more due to her obvious confidence and the way she knew where she was going than the relative safety of the neighbourhood. It would not last; sooner or later someone would bar her way, demand something she was unwilling to part with. For this was one of the dark places of Wizarding Britain, for all that daylight hid its true depths.

She had come to Knockturn Alley many times in the past, of course. Nobody had shown any malicious interest towards her as that old wizard with the pale face and the wickedly carved knife was doing now, or following her path from the shadows as more than one denizen of this dismal place had in the past quarter-hour. Of course, she'd appeared different then; taller, older, dark of hair, in expensive yet conservative wizarding clothes. Appearances did matter, and she'd looked as if she belonged. Not so, today. There were other ideas she needed to put into any observers' minds this time, other limitations she had to work under. Plus, it wasn't as if she was in any real danger.

"Are you lost, dearie?"

The grandmotherly old woman before her had enough wrinkles to be starting her third century, her face white, her skin like old parchment left too long under the sun, and yet her spindly limbs carried her with deceptive grace. She was not a witch though, but a hag. A magical creature that fed on humans when it could, especially young children. The Ministry hunted down hags that didn't follow a strict no-humans diet these days, which explained why this one looked so thin... and why she had approached first. There was an eagerness hidden under the false frailness, a dark hunger that meant to make this obviously lost, muggleborn visitor into its next meal. Unfortunately for the would-be predator, said visitor had urgent business.

"Crucio!"

The torture curse made for a hell of a greeting, or response to awkward questions, or even as an excuse to leave a boring party early - or make it boring no more. It was quite useful and versatile, its caster considered, as she stepped over the writhing hag and deeper into Knockturn Alley. The watchers had surreptitiously withdrawn, minding their own business now that it had been proven the alternative would be highly unpleasant. Wasn't this always how it went? Contemplating the rightful perversity of wizard-kind, the young blonde witch finally reached her destination; a small antique shop packed full of curious, unusual, and invariably cursed items.

"Borgin," she greeted the oily, too-thin shopkeeper brusquely, unwilling to suffer through the detestable man's false platitudes and attempts to curry favour.

"Excuse my memory lapse, miss, do I know you?" The aging dark wizard who had murdered his partner to take control of their business looked at her curiously and a little bit warily.

"Nothing wrong with your memory, old man," she dismissed his question. "I've come here plenty of times; I merely wore a different face. Now, to business." In a lightning-fast motion that few could have followed - none of them named Borgin - her wand was in her hand. That would be identification enough for someone as observant as the older dark wizard. Indeed the man drew in a sudden breath, then narrowed his eyes at her. She merely nodded in confirmation before continuing. "I want unicorn's blood, as fresh as possible and undiluted, as much as you can provide."

"This will be..." Borgin licked his thin, anaemic lips, "an expensive matter."

"Consider all expenses covered," she shot back sharply. "I am in a hurry, here. Do not even think of overcharging me though; the consequences would be very painful... for you." The old wizard shrugged, and disappeared through the small door behind the counter. That she had not noticed the door upon entering, or seen it at all before he actually used it, indicated it was under powerful concealment spells. She was probably in luck then, if Borgin was looking through his highly illegal stock; he might have acquired some unicorn blood recently. All for the best; she really was in a hurry.

The doorbell rung as another witch entered the little shop, and she turned to observe the newcomer; one could never be too careful. The new arrival was also young, perhaps of an age with her, but taller and brunette. Dressed in expensive green silk robes and adorned with some tasteful jewelry - mostly silver, diamonds, and pearls - she was obviously rich, and possibly a bit naive. There was no overt display of confidence, of threat in the way she moved. Then again, she was not alone. Her companion was male, a bit shorter, and entirely hidden behind black, hooded robes, black boots, and black gloves. Faceless and apparently voiceless, he was obviously some sort of bodyguard. The girl was looking around the shop with interest, eyeing the newer wares and possibly tallying up prices against her husband's allowance, but the bodyguard just stood there, unmoving, unresponsive. That was immediate cause for alarm in the witch's opinion, so she held her wand at hand, ready to cast at a moment's notice.

Mister Borgin returned just then, carrying three glass bottles filled to the brim with precious silver liquid. He carefully put down his cargo on the counter, then faked looking up prices from a catalogue; if he didn't know the price of every object in his shop by heart, she'd eat her hat. In the end he nodded, scribbled something down, and turned to her.

"That would be nine hundred galleons to be paid in cash now, or twice that amount on credit," he announced almost gleefully and she winced. That was a major expense... but irrelevant in the long run. Not worth the trouble of arguing with Borgin in his own shop. The newcomer didn't seem to think so, though, for she chose that moment to interject.

"Excuse me, Mister Borgin?" she said loudly and with obvious annoyance. "What about my order? It has been delayed several times already!" The old wizard looked at the girl with some distaste, but also just a hint of apprehension. Interesting. Letting the impolite interruption slide for the moment, she waited to see the shopkeeper's response, watch the unfolding drama. Who knew? It might be interesting - and things had been hectic lately.

"Your order is not yet ready, miss." Borgin said with obviously false politeness. "Please come back later."

"Is that so?" Apparently the girl was not buying that. Nor should she; Borgin was just trying to get rid of her for some reason. "You've already delayed three times, and increased the price twice. It has been over a year now."

"Delicate and rare magical devices are not easy to find," Borgin said, almost back to his usual oily manners. "Just as I explained several times before, it takes considerable effort to locate them... effort that is not cheap."

"That is rather surprising," the girl said, fingering something in her pocket "considering my order is already in your oh-so-secret storage room. From the looks of it, it has been there for some time."

"I do not think you understand." Borgin's tone was cold, utterly devoid of its usual falseness. It was the tone of a dangerous man about to do dangerous things. "Your order is not ready. Please come back in a month or two. Oh, and the price has gone up by another hundred galleons." For a moment it looked as if the girl would be foolish enough to assault Borgin, or order her bodyguard to do it, her face twisting in a grimace of anger. Then she calmed down and stared back at Borgin just as coldly.

"I see." And with that last word, she turned around and left. The door clicked shut, and Borgin let go a relieved sigh. Home advantage or no, he had apparently not wanted to risk a direct confrontation. Smart. All the preparation and advantages in the world might not save him if his attacker was quick enough with an Unforgivable. They'd still die horribly, but that would be cold comfort to an equally dead Borgin.

"What was that about?" she asked the old wizard and got a shake of his head and a shrug.

"Just a contact that had become too hot to be worth it," he said uninformatively. "Now, as for your ord-URG!"

The annoyed girl had left the shop on her own. Her bodyguard had not followed and neither of them had paid any attention until the guy reached over the counter, crabbed Borgin by the throat with a gloved hand and pulled him off his feet. Obviously, strong aversion Charms had been used, ones that lasted very briefly - just long enough for this ill-planned attack. Then, several things happened at once. First, half a dozen glyphs all over Borgin's and Burke's became visible as they pulsed with light, a curse from each of them hitting the black robed attacker squarely. One that caused lasting debilitating pain by slowly rending his skin. Another that made him experience a horrible nightmare, one devised by Borgin's near-century of experience with torture and worse. A blood-boiling curse, always a favourite. A curse that killed almost instantly in a horribly painful manner even if it touched a tiny portion of skin. Then the organ-rotting curse, followed by a simple Reductor.

The robbed attacker simply ignored them. The worst result was the Reductor blasting a fist-sized hole in the man's torso instead of turning him to dust, which did not seem to hurt him in the slightest. More curses activated as a frantic Borgin drew his wand, two lethal transfigurations, a flaying curse, one that made you experience a fatal heart attack, and a brain-rotter, the jelly-brains jinx's big cousin. The attacker ignored them too, for he wasn't a man at all; he was an inferius concealed under those heavy robes. Borgin must have realized that for he set the walking corpse on fire. In retaliation, the thing almost casually crushed Borgin's wand in its fist along with Borgin's fingers, utterly ignoring the powerful incineration spell. And then the old dark wizard was out of options and out of time; he fell unconscious in his attacker's grasp.

The shop's door opened, and nearly a dozen figures walked in. Twisted, emaciated limbs, skin drawn tight over bone and leathery flesh, gaping mouths, little hair, empty eye sockets filled with sickly yellow spellfire. More inferi, without disguises this time. They were strange even for inferi though, their limbs, their proportions, both subtly wrong, their heads a bit too large... and their flesh a matte black as if they'd been coated in tar. The first inferius just let Borgin drop to the floor and turned around, its smouldering attire falling off its body to reveal not a single burn mark. Then the thing opened its twisted, dried out mouth and spoke.

"My apologies for the inconvenience." That the voice was identical to other witch's was not much of a surprise. Necromancers could speak through their minions as they so wished, a practice she'd never used but could have, had a reason presented itself. "It is not my intention to harm or threaten other customers or bystanders, but I despise being cheated or taken for a fool. Mister Borgin attempted both more than once so he will be... indisposed for the foreseeable future."

"I see," the other woman replied in smiling imitation of the necromancer's last face-to-face words. "I do have need of that unicorn's blood though, as well as a few other ingredients Mister Borgin did not provide me yet."

"Feel free to help yourself to his inventory then," came the cheerful reply. "I certainly intend to."

"And the thieves' curses?" she asked, now openly laughing. She liked the other woman's style.

"They can expend themselves on my helpers. Inferi are, technically, human even though they are not." The inferius shrugged awkwardly. "Curses against people will trigger on them; it just happens that being already dead and fortified by dark magic makes them immune to the vast majority of effects favoured by dark wizards. And in those cases they aren't, one can always make more inferi."

In the end, it was a very profitable day for Bellatrix. She had not been recognized, she had obtained many of the ingredients for her Lord's resurrection, she had filled her magically expanded purse with more useful supplies, and she hadn't paid a single Knut. Plus, she'd seen that slime Borgin get put in a sack for future experimentation and dissection - she hoped. Necromancers needed rare ingredients, too, and live human parts were not easy to come by. The only downside was that the other witch had not worn her own face either, so she couldn't present her Lord with another potential recruit.

Oh well. You win some, you lose some. She had a feeling they'd encounter that necromancer again in the future, anyway.


	40. Devices and Draughts

**Did Harry, Ron, and Hermione ever use personal defense items even though they'd seen them used to great effect by others? If not, I do not own Harry Potter; he belongs to JK Rowling and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **PS: sorry for the long delay, I am still having trouble with this part of the story. This chapter had to be split in two, because it had grown too large. The rest will be posted in a day or two.  
**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The prepared stands for the Fourth Task were filled to capacity, tens of thousands of wizards from all over Europe and beyond having come to see the Tournament. Unlike many past attempts to revive the ancient traditional competition between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang, this time the British Ministry of magic had prepared a last moment yet extensive advertisement campaign. Coupled with the Quidditch World Cup finals also being held in the same country only months before, the level of awareness raised about the competition had exceeded all expectations and the crowd of onlookers, while still smaller than in the World Cup, was impressive with its size and energy.

 _The easier to ridicule us for our blunders_ , Minister of Magic Amelia Bones thought. Having taken the position at Albus Dumbledore's insistence to prevent the Blood Purists from promoting their own candidates didn't make her job any easier. The attempts on the former Minister's life, the debacle with the Potter boy being forced into the Tournament, the frightening terrorist attacks by surviving, recently escaped Death Eaters... all those things just reduced the number of remaining red hair on her head. She should have started dyeing it years before according to some of her female friends, but pride wouldn't let her. Besides, she was too busy for such silly things as cosmetics.

"Over here, Minister," Dawlish called out, as if she could not find the way to her own seat! No... she had to be calm. For all that it seemed silly and wasteful, being seen to have fun in the Tournament her own administration had organized was another political manoeuvre. So she walked calmly and sedately, as if everything was all right and she didn't have any fires to put out back at the office - figurative or literal - and sat at the top box. The mostly empty top box, unfortunately. The Ministries of France and Bulgaria had sent no delegation other than from the schools in their respective areas of influence - or was it the other way around? That not so subtle statement wrote in letters anyone could read that there would be no foreign assistance with Magical Britain's internal issues... not until the International Confederation of Wizards' conference this coming August. The meeting place for that particular can of worms had been chosen already; Hemel Hempstead, a small town twenty-four miles Northwest of London. She had a third of the Ministry's depleted Auror force building up its protections already.

"Hi, Amy!"

The greeting coming out of thin air almost made her jump, and sent Dawlish, Proudfoot, and her other bodyguards scrambling for their wands. A wizard appearing out of thin air within arm's reach of the Minister of Magic was bound to send her security into shock. That this wizard was Sirius Black, a man they had been hunting only a year before, did not amuse them in the slightest. It amused her though, especially since Sirius was in full noble Lord mode, dressed in black acromantula silk and dragonhide, wearing Graphorn horn-rimmed glasses of Peruvian black crystal, and sported hair and moustache that must have involved dozens of grooming charms to arrange, lengthen, and straighten to perfection.

"That's Minister Bones to you, you rascal, or next time I'm letting the Aurors arrest you." Naturally, the infuriating man raised an eyebrow in challenge and smirked childishly. Was it too much to hope that his new companion would set him straight? Hestia Jones was a fairly level-headed Hit Witch, after all. Apparently though, the scoundrel named Sirius Black was made of sterner stuff that didn't cave in to the demands of logic, propriety, or girlfriends. Why was she not surprised? "How'd you sneak up on us anyway?"

"Sneak up on you? Whatever do you mean?" He batted his eyelashes over those pale grey eyes in pretend innocence, but she didn't buy it; she made that perfectly clear with a kick to the shin. "OK, OK, I'll talk! No torture necessary! I didn't sneak up on you; I just put an invisibility enchantment on my seat and waited for your arrival. It's not as if your seating arrangements are some deep mystery; If I were a Death Eater, I'd have just borrowed an Undetectable Poison from my old buddy - you know the guy; good with potions, bad attitude, greasy hair - and applied it to your seat in advance."

The Aurors stirred uneasily, and Dawlish almost hexed the madman; Amelia just facepalmed. "Why me?"

"Oh, I can answer that!" Sirius said, raising his hand like a first-year Ravenclaw eager to get some House Points. "You kinda volunteered for the Iron Mai... err... I mean the Minister's position. And you were so good in your job as the Head of the DMLE that certain not-so-law-abiding influential citizens voted for your promotion."

"I'm going to kill you. Nobody would blame me for it," she muttered and Dawlish emphatically nodded. "Why are you here? Why aren't you watching the Task along with the faculty, or your friends, cheering your Godson along?"

"Because Dumbledore wanted me to update you on certain matters, and this is the best time to do so." Sirius gave her one of his patented mischievous smirks, the ones he'd used back when they both were students. "After all, I am known to be a reckless idiot with a great fondness for pranks, and I just surprised your security detail by appearing out of thin air. Nobody will believe we have anything serious to discuss which, if they thought about it, is a rather dumb assumption to make."

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was very lucky he had to sit on the judges' panel. Otherwise, Amelia might be strangling him with his own beard by then.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"I told you it would work; nobody pays attention to bugs," Valeria said with satisfaction as the five friends listened to a conversation half a stadium away through the tiny listening beads in their ears.

"Yes, yes, you stole the idea from a certain nosy reporter we all know," Tracey muttered back. "Merlin, I never should have told you about Skeeter."

"Shh! I want to hear what they got to say about Malfoy and his Death Eater pals," Ron said, hands pressed against his ears to cut down on interference. Daphne was doing the same thing, though she was too focused on the distant conversation to say anything.

"Come on, guys, cut it out!" Neville was the only one of them who didn't see what they were doing as amusing or useful, not to mention legal. The tall, dark blond Gryffindor was nervously shifting his eyes left and right, trying to see if anyone was paying attention to their group without appearing to. "I don't wanna go to Azkaban."

"Don't worry; I looked it up. Listening in on private conversations isn't illegal - probably because it's so easy to prevent with spells." If the muggleborn Slytherin was a bit smug - OK, very smug - about this particular development, she had a reason to be. "At least until someone casts a Protean Charm to transfer sounds between objects, shrinks and gives one of them to an insect under her control, and sends it out to spy."

"Yes yes, you're so very clever," Tracey shot back. "Like, how hard could it be to combine the idea of muggle listening devices with communication magic when you just found out about an actual magical spy bug?"

"Does nobody care that we're spying on the Minister herself?" Neville asked, trying to be the voice of reason. "Come on, the Task is starting! Harry would have wanted his friends to support him!" He pointed at the four magical screens and the even larger white banner in their midst who had been showing advertisements until only a minute before. Now they were completely blank, though, the mirrors only showing a Champion's name each: VICTOR KRUM in bright red, FLEUR DELACOUR in sky blue, CEDRIC DIGGORY in earthen brown, and HARRY POTTER in shining gold. To someone who had been working on replicating the magic of two-way mirrors for months, their purpose was rather obvious; the four Champions' actions would be displayed there so the crowd could follow the action. Valeria had her suspicions about the banner as well, but that was neither here nor there.

"Harry would have wanted to watch the Task with friends rather than participate, Neville," Valeria countered. "It is because of the Ministry's and the faculty's incompetence that we can't trust them to handle everything any more. Listening in so we know about any troubles we might have to prepare for could save our lives when - not if - the school is invaded again."

To that declaration Neville had nothing to respond with. As much as the quietest and most down-to-earth member of the group of six wanted to deny it he could not, for it had been proven true time and again.

To tell the truth, Valeria was glad for the Ministry's failures so far. Being a child soldier was not something she'd have ever chosen for herself or her friends... but would she even have friends beyond Daphne and Tracey if not for the adventures that had bound them together? Would Harry, Ron, or Neville? And as much as she'd have liked to believe curiosity and awe at this new world of magic would have driven her to become a great witch anyway, it had been the dangers the six of them had to face and the spectre of a returning Dark Lord looming over all muggleborns and their families that had forced her to push her magical education. Given her motivation and opportunity to walk further than any other student down the road to power.

As the images of the four Champions appeared in their respective mirrors, at least six students were more concerned with the events that might follow the Tournament than the task itself.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

"OK everyone? Are you ready?" Ludo Bagman asked with his customary exuberance as he joined the four of them in the small tent that had been set up before the Forbidden Forest. At the abrupt nods and wordless apprehension he got from the four teenage witches and wizards before him, the Champions were fine, if a bit too wound up to enjoy themselves. Which was just too bad, in the former Quidditch player's opinion. Why participate in a game at all if you were too stressed out to have fun? "As you already discovered, each one of you has that small floating tube following them around. Don't mind them; they're just Omnioculars. Or rather, half Omnioculars, modified to send the images to big viewing mirrors we set up so everyone can watch your best efforts!"

Krum grunted, Cedric and Harry just seemed more apprehensive, only Fleur gave Bagman a smile, then turned around and waved at her own floating observer. A moment later, the crowd in the distant stands shouted their approval loudly enough to be heard all the way from the modified Quidditch pitch. Bagman gave the girl a wink; she knew how to work a crowd, she did. But she was the only one; what had happened to the newest generation's appreciation for their adoring fans?

"Err... I guess I should give you the instructions then." He pulled back a curtain he'd set up just for the dramatic reveal, unveiling four identical stacks of ten items each. "Out in the Forbidden Forest we've marked a thousand yard square for the task, and filled it with all kinds of excitement. Traps, obstacles, magical creatures, enchantments; you'll get to face many of those. Not all of those challenges are equal, though. The hardest of them contain rewards; golden tokens you will have to gather."

"Now this task is about more than just wand magic, for the Wizarding World has magic beyond quick, everyday spells. Thus you are allowed to take up to three of the potions and three of the items from your stack with you to the field. You are not allowed to bring any other enchanted item, potion, or similar item into the Task. Neither are you allowed companions, pets, outside aid, or precast spells."

Aware that the audience was listening to every word, the Champions focused on the items provided; a bottle full of what looked like water, one full of a bright green concoction, another filled with a disgusting-looking transparent slime, one with a turquoise blue liquid that simmered silver vapour, and the last was full of an odourless, clear, dark liquid. The objects they had to choose from were a foot-long silver short sword, a large candle, a fancy woman's purse, a clay tablet with five runes carved on it, and a pair of glasses.

"You can take your time to decide, but remember; whoever holds the most tokens by sunset wins. The only thing you are not allowed to do is use your wand against any of the other Champions."


	41. Interpretations

**Disclaimer: despite more than half than half the lessons in Hogwarts being about it, did any of the canon Tasks involve something other than wand magic? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me. He belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Most of the world saw Krum as a Quidditch star first, and everything else never. His fans loved him for his skill and daring, almost insane manoeuvres on a broom (if male), or his looks, fame, and bad boy image (if female). Not always - there were people that either didn't care or had risen above such shallow judgements - but it happened far too often for his liking. Personally, Victor valued magic and his studies just as much as Quidditch, but athletic success offered far too many opportunities that a poor half-blood from a Grindelwald-ravaged small village would never had been given otherwise.

He entered the ancient woods beyond the castle's grounds with care, wary of what dangers might lie in wait in the shadow of the gnarled trees, concealed by the thick mists, or crawling through cracks and tunnels. It was not a true forest that surrounded him, at least not a normal one. It lacked much of the undergrowth of natural woods, and there was far too much mist even for Scotland's humid climate - especially at midday. And then there were the paths; far too many and varied to have been made by normal wildlife, or the occasional visiting student. No, the so-called Forbidden Forest had to be the home of many magical creatures... and even the simplest magical creatures could be dangerous. Except for Flobberworms; some Alchemist or experimental breeder had probably made those as a punishment for unruly apprentices as they were both useful in Potions and incredibly disgusting.

The Durmstrang Champion slowed down as his path led him to a thick, glossy black webbing stretching from tree to tree, some of its cords thicker than his thumb, others as fine as any silk. He knew the kind of creatures that had made it of course; many in Durmstrang wore Acromantula Silk robes for special occasions and a younger Krum had wanted to find out where it came from and perhaps get some of the creatures that spun it to do it for him. That particular idea had been abandoned when he'd found out Acromantulas were magically resistant spider-like fiends that liked to eat careless wizards. Their presence here did not make sense though; Scotland was far from the tropical forests that were their home. Or did it? Magizoology was certainly a sphere of magic that wasn't about wands, and an Acromantula nest was the perfect place to put one of the tokens they had to get.

He considered the webs that barred his passage, knowing they would be more resilient than any natural silk. But Victor had more than the simple tools of muggles at his disposal; he had magic. Sending a barrage of Cutting Curses at the silky strands with a few flicks of his Hornbeam wand, he cut a hole through them in near-total silence. This was precisely why he had not taken the sword with him; not only was magic far superior to most blades, the swords they had been allowed to pick had not a trace of magic in them. Checking all the items with Revealing Spells before choosing anything had proven a wise decision, as one of the potions seemed to be non-magical as well, a trap to waste their choices on if they made their picks too rashly. Fortunately though, Krum knew enough to pick the most useful items and potions.

For this particular challenge, he levitated the vial with the clear dark liquid through the hole and deeper into the nest. The only response was an ominous quiet, nothing living seeming to react to his actions. But Krum hadn't been a Seeker by accident; his eagle eyes spotted minute movement through the webbing and trees, a shadow here, a branch out of place there, the individual disturbances almost insignificant but taken all together they formed the outlines of not one, not two, but seven wagon-sized monsters moving high up in the trees in complete silence. A fair Duellist or not, Krum did not want to face a grown Acromantula in close range in its natural habitat, let alone that many. So he cast a silent Warming Charm on the unstoppered vial he was levitating.

There was no bubbling, no sibilant hiss, and no steam as the potion evaporated rapidly, for being a hidden danger was one of the reasons such a potion had been created in the first place. Krum put on a Bubblehead Charm despite his distance from the bottle, and waited. In under the count of twenty, the unseen fumes had done their work, and seven Acromantula lay on the ground, seemingly dead. Thus they would remain until somebody gave them the antidote to the Draught of Living Death they had just inhaled.

Krum widened the hole with more Cutting Curses, walked into the nest, and retrieved the golden token within. One down, many more to go.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Harry looked at the pool with distaste. He had been searching for over half an hour for one of the tokens, had had to fight off several Redcaps who had tried to ambush him, and this was the first gleam of gold he saw for his troubles. It was tiny, no more than a gleaming golden dot in the still pool's depths, but it was obviously one of the tokens they needed to get because a labyrinth of pale blue crystal had been constructed under the water. It reminded him nothing so much as the rat labyrinths he'd seen in Magical Menagerie, the pet store in Diagon Alley. Considering the glowing green potion he held in his hand now, the tiny labyrinth made sense - in a weird, demented, wizardly way.

The Shrinking Solution had been his first pick because it was a potion he knew well. He expected he might have to use it to get out of a trap, or hide in a crack from one of Hagrid's beasts if it came to that, but using it to get into a trap would have to do. Sighing, he raised his Holly and Phoenix Feather wand and cast the Bubblehead Charm. He didn't like to use it, and not because it made anyone look ridiculous. He'd learned it at Valeria's insistence and had been very excited about the underwater exploring he could now do, but then the Slytherin witch had to go and ruin it by wondering how the spell worked, exactly. The bubble couldn't physically contain more than a few breaths' worth of air, but seemed to be good for hours at a time. Did it then transport oxygen from elsewhere and banished carbon dioxide away? How did that work under Hogwarts' anti-disapparation jinx, or at the depths of a body of water? Did it Transform or Conjure the air then? If so, why could you consume transfigured air but not food? And how did the bubble function in high pressure without afflicting the user with diving sickness?

Suffice it to say Harry was no longer excited about the spell.

Still, he had a task to complete, so he drank the potion (the bubble didn't keep out solids), and suddenly he, the bubble, and everything he carried were hundreds of times smaller. The small pond now seemed like a smaller version of the Black Lake, and every tree seemed taller than Hogwarts' Great Tower. Not wanting to meet any denizen of the Forbidden Forest while he was only a couple inches tall, he immediately dropped into the water. Unsurprisingly, it was frigidly cold, dark and oppressive, though there was no feeling of actual pressure no matter how deeply he seemed to swim. Probably because the entire pond was maybe a dozen feet deep at most.

Swimming with a bubble of air around your head was an exercise in patience, and holding a rock in one hand. That got him deeper quickly, and in only a couple of minutes he was at the entrance of the underwater crystal maze. The amount of potion he had drunk was good only for a couple of hours, and while having to wait to regrow would be time-consuming, taking too long was the biggest danger. He didn't know what would happen if he tried to grow while within the maze's walls. So he started going as fast as he could towards the distant gleam of the token. Maybe he should have tried harder to break the thing or summon the token, but he doubted any of the Champions could manage it if Headmaster Dumbledore had enchanted it.

Swimming through the dark water got boring after that, though not as much as it could have been if he hadn't memorized the way to the center of the maze back when he was large enough to look at it from above. After what felt like hours of effort, but probably was thirty minutes at best, his boredom was interrupted by a massive attack. The enemy had numbers, they had surprise, and they were inhuman monsters with tentacles that could easily grab Harry and crush him, if he wasn't careful. Harry had magic, and experience defeating Grindylows in class - even if these had not been shrunk down quite to Harry's size. Casting spells underwater was normally very difficult, but with the bubble of air around his head, it was only a little harder than a practice duel. As the standard way to defeat Grindylows was to break their fingers, Harry didn't feel uncomfortable blasting them away with some of the hexes the Slytherin girls had taught him. For all the excitement, the need to be alert to avoid being grabbed from behind, it was still more tedious than not.

Especially when he reached the center of the mage to find the token gone.

In the safety of the underwater maze, with the floating camera overhead unable to pick up the words, Harry spent at least half a minute swearing. Then he found the second entrance to the center, one that was the end of a more complex but slightly shorter route he had avoided just in case his memory failed him, and swam forward at his best speed. If one of the other Champions had taken the token, they could not be far ahead - not if they arrived at the pond after he did! The rules said he could not use his wand against other Champions, but didn't say anything about summoning away tokens now, did they?

It didn't take him long to find his target, because the grindylows had slowed them down. In fact, a fierce fight was still going on, a blur of spells, tentacles, and limbs. Watching Fleur move underwater was even more mesmerizing than it had been on land, a dance of inhuman grace all the more beautiful for being deadly. He couldn't help but compare the older witch to Daphne, finding them eerily, embarrassingly similar. He would have stayed there, watching while the beautiful blonde smote the Grindylows, if a beast that was sneakier than average hadn't managed to attack Fleur from behind. Beauxbaton's Champion managed to disentangle herself and blast the water-demon back, but it was too late; the other surviving Grindylows had used the opportunity to get too close for her to blast them all. There was more frantic flailing of limbs and tentacles, more spellfire, but only briefly.

Harry got out of his stupor as he saw an unconscious Fleur being dragged away by a grindylow, her bubble of air broken. She would drown even if the monster didn't simply eat her! So without further thinking, Harry charged into the diminished ranks of the Grindylows, beating them all back and saving the girl. He even cast a new Bubblehead Charm on her head, but she remained unconscious. Sighing, knowing that Daphne would kill him for this, he started carrying Fleur back to the entrance.

It was slow going, carrying the older witch, keeping an eye out for more water-demons, and swimming at the same time. The whole thing became far more awkward due to Harry's frequent contact with girls that reminded him that they were girls at least twice a day. He tried not to think about it as he carried his fellow Champion into safety... but didn't quite manage. Finally - finally! They exited the underwater maze, and ten minutes later he was dragging Fleur out of the water. The girl was a lot heavier than she looked, muscles hidden under the soft curves... best not to think about that, though. She was still unconscious even as their potions ran their course and they returned to normal size. Should he try something? He didn't even know how to give the kiss of life, and with the camera floating over them, he didn't dare to. But... Cursing his stupidity, Harry pointed his wand at Fleur and cast.

"Rennervate!"

The magic instantly woke the girl up. She frantically struggled for a few seconds, until she realized she was safely away from the Grindylows. Then she turned towards him, both eyebrows rising in incredulity.

"'Arry?"

"Ermm... yeah." Could he be any more stupid? "I saw you get taken out by Grindylows and didn't want to leave you to drown."

"'Vraiment?" She looked at him curiously, expression shifting from gratitude to suspicion. Then she patted down her pale blue robes, and Harry tried to keep looking at her face; they were much thinner and lighter than Hogwarts robes and the water made them rather... translucent. It didn't take Fleur long to find both her wand and not one but two golden tokens, sigh in relief, then cast a half-dozen spells in quick succession that dried out the water, got rid of the mud, straightened everything up, and pulled back her long silver hair in a French braid. "Thank you 'Arry!"

"No... no problem," he stammered, blushing just a bit. "It was nothing."

"Non. It was very honourable," she countered seriously, then removed one of the two golden tokens from her belt, and handed it over to him. "This is yours more than mine."

That kind of gesture from the haughty, previously unapproachable girl left Harry speechless and with only one thought in his mind; Daphne was really going to kill him!

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Cedric had been doing relatively well so far. After running away from a Sphinx that was somehow immune to Veritaserum, he had used the Billywig Sting Extract to get an aerial view of the area the Task covered. The extract might be slimy and taste far worse than it looked, but getting almost an hour of floating around weightlessly, able to focus entirely on the conjured birds that carried him around rather than having to split his focus on a Levitation Charm was definitely worth it. Looking down from above, he had discovered a lot of interesting features.

First had been that giant token the size of a man standing on the top of a small hill. No matter what spells he had thrown at it, it had refused to budge, and he could never have managed to carry it on his own. That's where the magically expanded purse he had picked had proven useful, no matter how girly it looked; it had practically swallowed the token. Cedric now had a token he was sure neither Harry nor Krum could have taken, and he was secure enough in his masculinity to carry around the frilly, flowery, pink little purse.

Then had been that token in the middle of a clearing that seemed to be unguarded, except approaching it made one run away in panic. There was obviously a protective enchantment around it, one that caused terror and despair. Or someone had given a Dementor an invisibility cloak, but he didn't think the organizers were that crazy. In any case, the Draught of Peace calmed him down, washed away his fears and worries, enabling him to retrieve that token easily as well.

This time, Cedric moved towards another clearing, filled with lush green, harmless-looking vines. A fountain stood in the center, with a token on top, but he hadn't been stupid enough to charge in while floating; he'd seen what happened to Krum. The Durmstrang Champion was attacked by the innocent-looking vines, ensnared, carried away, and wrapped up so securely that there was no chance of him escaping. Smiling, Cedric approached carefully from the ground, iron sword held in both hands.

Many people saw Herbology as a useless subject or, if not useless, something they could pay others to do for them. Working with plants was beneath a mighty wizard, wasn't it? They were all wrong, of course. Take Creepers, for example. This magical plant came in several varieties, but all of them shared two characteristics; high enough resistance to magic that trying to blast through them was harder than bringing down an enchanted wall, and magical animation that enabled them to attack intruders. A good Herbologist would recognize the dangers of this plant in the wilds, where others would only remember it from a children's story. They would be able to sow fences of Creepers to protect their home, a defense many wizards would be unable to pass through. And they would know that some varieties of creeper had a weakness to blades of precious metal.

Cedric had never used a sword before, but he had the reflexes of a Seeker, and after the creepers tasted the blade's bite once, they were reluctant to approach. He walked up to Krum's captured, wrapped-up form, considering whether to help the other Champion. His honour as a Hufflepuff said yes, but his caution, and his loyalty to his House said otherwise. There were only so many tokens in play, and helping another Champion would reduce his own chances. For too long had Hufflepuffs been ridiculed as the House of Duffers, the leftovers, those not good enough to make it in any other house. Cedric might not be willing to attack another Champion to change that - at least not without them attacking first - but he didn't have to help them either. Besides, Krum didn't have a sword on him. If he had picked the non-magical blade, he wouldn't have been captured. Some problems could not be solved with just waving a wand; that was the lesson the organizers wanted them to learn, and Cedric would not help Krum out of it; Hufflepuffs knew that there was no gain without pain... or at least a great deal of hard work.

Getting to the center of a clearing, he found the fountain had slots for two tokens, but only one was taken up by a golden disc. Someone had come here before him, and taken only one disc for the challenge. Even Cedric himself didn't know if he would have taken them both... had it been Potter? Krum had failed, and as much as he didn't want to think ill of Miss Delacour, that girl struck him as willing to do almost anything to succeed, much like another blonde acquaintance of his.

Shrugging, Cedric took his third token for the Task, then walked away in search of more.

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Fleur was beginning to panic. The sun was not far above the horizon, and she had not found another token. There probably was a limited number of them, and after spending so long in a failure and then recovering from it, the others must have retrieved the remaining tokens already. Maybe if she had not tried for the token in the underwater maze... Papa always thought she was too brave for her own good. Veela were creatures of fire and air; swimming made her more than a bit uncomfortable, and she preferred her baths to be scalding hot, for a human. Nearly two hours in freezing waters, so relatively far from the sky and so deep in darkness... she'd have preferred another go with the dragons instead. Even if they breathed fire on her, all it could do was burn her clothes.

She still had her first token from answering the Sphinx's questions, but she had given the one from the pond to Harry Potter. She'd had to struggle with herself to do it; she had always had that drive to be the best despite, or possibly because of, her Veela heritage. What had convinced her to swallow her pride was not Potter saving her life - though it was a huge mark in his favour - but his not asking for, or simply taking, a reward. She had been unconscious, waking up to find her wand and her golden tokens still there. Almost anyone else would have taken the tokens or, even worse, her wand too, effectively removing her from the competition. But Harry Potter had not. Neither had he... taken advantage of her, despite her allure. Many boys (and some girls) in Beauxbatons had refrained from doing so only out of fear - either of expulsion, or what she would do to them if they tried. And so she had rewarded Harry's nobility and restraint with one of her two tokens; she could have done no less.

But now, with all tokens gathered and the Task coming to an end, he had only one option left to her. She would not use it on Harry of course. And she had passed by Krum, still captured in that field of vines. Risking another challenge, and then having to take tokens from another Champion was a bad idea. So she followed a little stream through the woods, moving towards the only remaining target.

"'allo, Cedric!" she called out pleasantly, giving the boy her best smile. "Found many tokens?"

"And what if I did?" the Hogwarts Champion demanded suspiciously but slowly, still struggling to think through her allure. Many wizards would consider it cheating, would call her a "filthy bird" and worst insults for using a power inherited from a non-human. Which was precisely why she did it, of course. Winning over a 'pure' wizard without using a wand of her own would put all those bigots and racists in their place. It was too bad that a sweet boy like Cedric would have to be on the receiving end, but maybe she could make it up to him later?

"Oh, don't worry, Cedric!" she said, still smiling. "I won't be taking your tokens. Wouldn't want to burn off that pretty face." The allure was far from the only thing she'd inherited from Mama's side of the family, but messing up someone that handsome? Non, there were better ways. She took out the clay tablet, the one she had dripped a bit of blood over a few minutes before without showing it at the camera, and thrust it into the muddy bank of the small stream.

"Non, my little friend will!" Almost immediately, the entire riverbank begun to shift, tons of mud moving around. With a bit of extra power, the blood spilt on the word TRUTH carved with runes into the clay, the effects were both stronger and faster than they would have otherwise been. The inscription was in the commonly used runes rather than the original language but that didn't seem to matter as the animation magic was working just fine; a massive, vaguely humanoid mound of mud took form, an awareness of it growing in Fleur's mind. Before a befuddled Cedric could react, she instructed the golem to engulf the boy's body with one arm, disarming him with the other.

Cedric struggled valiantly, but the golem was stronger than any troll, and practically immune to physical damage. In under a minute, Cedric wore himself out against the animated clay, then Fleur retrieved his three tokens while the golem held him captive. She left the boy's wand for him before leaving; the forest was too dangerous to leave anyone helpless. He still had to beat the golem though, her last instruction to the construct being to keep Cedric occupied while she made her escape and the time for the Task ran out.

All was fair in love and war.


	42. Revision Time

**Disclaimer: Did we ever see Harry revising spells or potions from previous years at any regular schedule, even the really useful ones? If not, Harry Potter does not belong to me. It belongs to JK Rowling, and this story is entirely non-profit.**

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

Fleur Delacour's victory in the Fourth Task spawned endless discussions and arguments the days that followed. Attacking another Champion being called 'controversial' and 'dishonest', her use of Veela allure earning titles such as 'sub-human', 'monstrous', and 'half-breed', many of the girls in Hogwarts writing letters of complaint or protest to Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet, and most of Hufflepuff raging against the unfairness of it all in their own quiet, passive-aggressive way. Gryffindor took the opportunity to throw a party for their Champion, raiding the kitchens for food and Hogsmeade for illegal drinks. Not because Harry had come second, but because he'd been all heroic and noble and a paragon of the virtues his House valued in saving the most beautiful girl in the castle. That the Weasley Twins had finally had their hair regrown and wanted to celebrate only added to the night-long disturbance. And while most Slytherins were very vocal about deriding Harry's naivete and general idiocy - he'd only come second because chance and Fleur had taken out two Champions better than him, according to them - quite a few of the girls quietly discussed how romantic his rescue of the beautiful Beauxbatons Champion had been.

Valeria wished everyone would just shut up about the stupid Tournament, already. The contest only interested her inasmuch as it offered the opportunity to see or try new magic, and help Harry survive yet another plot against him. She cared not at all about the politics involved at schoolyard or national level - not that there was a great difference between the two from what she'd observed. Besides, she had bigger problems to deal with.

"The leash! Grab the leash!"

"Nah, I got this! _Stupefy!_ "

"Watch out, it's firing back!"

BOOM!

 _"Protego! Protego! Protego!"_

"It's not working. Run for it!"

As it turned out, there was someone other than Valeria that was rather annoyed at the whole Tournament debacle. After getting caught a few months back and losing his chance to meet even more dragons, Hagrid had been hoping that his newest project would be used as an obstacle or minor hazard in one of the tasks, and the challenge in the Forbidden Forest had seemed like the best possibility. Unfortunately for the gentle half-giant, what he considered minor hazards the tournament's organizers had seen as too much of an unknown threat to the Champions' lives; after his experience with both Fluffy and Norberta and with more than a bit of help from some students almost as creature-crazy as he was, Hagrid had managed to raise his Blast-Ended Skrewts into veritable monsters.

As Valeria dodged a stinger that pierced through her shield with little effort and deflected a blast of fire with a quick banishing charm, she wondered if the increased difficulty in today's Care of Magical Creatures lesson was indicative of Hagrid's sour mood, or the class had been doomed to devolve into a battlefield since Hagrid had first introduced his hybrids. Half a dozen Skrewts had survived to reach the violent teenage phase of their lives, and the fourth-year students were having a hard time dealing with them.

"I bet you regret locking the shack's door now, Campbell," Pansy spat acidly as the two girls found themselves dealing with the same six-foot, armored, magic-resistant, mutated lobster.

"What are you talking about, Parkinson?" the blonde girl asked while pushing the Skrewt back with a levitated boulder. "Hagrid must have locked it after the last time Malfoy pulled a runner. Talk about House pride; the self-proclaimed leader of Slytherin hiding from monsters." Valeria had locked the door as soon as she saw Malfoy and Lavender Brown trying to hide away in Hagrid's home, of course. If the rest of them had to struggle with pincers as thick as telephone poles, those two would as well.

"Yeah, sure, the half-giant knows enough magic to keep out Draco and-"

BOOM!

"You filthy overgrown maggot," the dark-haired young witch cursed out loud as a fireball from the Skrewt's backside scorched the hem of her robes. "You'll pay for ruining my new boots! _Reducto! Bombarda! Caro Igneum!_ " The curses flew out of her wand as fast as she could cast and struck true. Unfortunately, Skrewts were the hybrids of fire-crabs and manticores; not only had they inherited the armor and fire resistance of the former, but also the near-immunity to spells of the latter. The Disintegration Curse only made an inch-wide black spot on the fiend's carapace, and the Explosion Hex was not so harmlessly deflected off its right pincer only to land thirty yards away, digging a small crater into the ground and sending Crabbe and Goyle flying. The Flesh-Fire Curse hit last, to absolutely no effect.

Where Pansy's enraged attack did succeed was in providing a distraction. No longer having to dodge natural weapons as dangerous as anything short of a dragon's claws, Valeria dropped low and aimed among the Skrewt's many legs. If fire crabs had a weakness, it was that their armor left a small part of their underbelly uncovered. With any luck, the hybridization had infused a manticore's spell immunity into the Skrewts' hard outer shells rather than their flesh, so her next spell would amount to something more than wasted effort.

 _"Confundo!"_

Experience and the memories of captured dark wizards had taught her that this particular spell had more in common with curses, for all it was categorized as a mental charm. The intent and viciousness of the caster - the emotion and will behind it - were far more important than the technical aspects for this bit of magic. What was more, the Confundus Charm had no upper limits; with enough effort, one could mentally affect even things that didn't have minds at all, warping reality to conceptually impose the caster's desires. It was how Barty Crouch Junior had managed to affect an ancient magical artifact of great power and something Lockhart, who had originally taught them the spell, could neither have managed on his own nor explained.

A split second from shredding Pansy's shield with its pincers and then doing the same on the girl's body, the Blast-Ended Skrewt stopped dead in its tracks. Then it lowered its pincers and stinger and, to the pureblood girl's shock, tried to rub itself against her; an image as silly as it was disgusting.

"What's wrong with it?" Pansy asked, then narrowed her eyes as she saw Valeria's outstretched wand. "Oh Merlin, what did you do this time?"

"I convinced it that it is a little dog," Valeria answered as she got closer and patted the insectoid monster's back. To Pansy's relief, it turned away from her and started rubbing itself against the muggleborn witch. "And that we are its beloved masters. Here, watch this." She transfigured a pebble into a stick and threw it. "Fetch!" To almost everyone's surprise, the Skrewt happily charged after the stick, catching it in its pincers and getting it back to the two of them Hagrid was so ecstatic that he gave the both of them ten points for Slytherin.

"That's cheating," Pansy grumbled. "We're supposed to learn how to take care of beautiful magical animals, not use mind magic on horrible beasts."

"Trust me Parkinson, you don't want Hagrid doing lessons on unicorns." Valeria sent the Skrewt to retrieve the stick again. "If we're very, very lucky, Hagrid will only have us mate unicorns with thestrals... it's kinda surprising that he hasn't already tried that. But if we are unlucky..." in lieu of explanation, she pointed at the returning Skrewt, a hybrid of a magical feline with a magical insect. Pansy shuddered.

"You suck, Campbell. You and Hagrid both. Now I can't think of unicorns without thinking about... that." There was such disgust and loathing in that last word, Valeria was surprised Pansy didn't accidentally power a wandless slug-vomiting curse.

"Yes, but there are compensations." The blonde witch smirked unpleasantly. "With all those suckers, I bet these things feed on liquids more than anything. Wanna see if I can convince the Skrewt Malfoy is its mummy?"

 **xxxx xxxx xxxx**

The fourth year Herbology lessons were getting harder as well. Harry might not need to study due to the Champions' exemption from exams - something he was taking advantage of to practice more Tournament-appropriate things - but the rest of them had to deal with more dangerous magical plants. Actual flesh-eating, directly aggressive species they'd only study in their fifth year and beyond, but that didn't mean those magical plants posing purely environmental hazards were much easier to deal with.

Case in point, the Fire Seed Bush. It was closer to a thick-bodied fern than a bush, and it had spores instead of seeds, but most wizards weren't particularly proficient in scientific plant designations and nomenclature. Of course they didn't need to be since they could force biology and logic to bend to them than the other way around, and in any case only the first word of the Fire Seed Bush's name was important; the whole plant was perpetually covered in a thin sheet of flames. Its spores retained their fiery aura even after being removed from the plant, which made handling them even more difficult. Alas this particular species of arcane flora had many uses, both as a food for magical species with fire affinity, and as a component in many potions. Its value combined with the difficulty of its handling ensured it was part of the standard Herbology curriculum.

"Glacius!"

Valeria's Freezing Spell created a thin layer of frost over its target, allowing her to pluck one of the spores from the temporarily neutralized plant. Unfortunately, as she went to grab a second spore, the ice melted away and flames burst forth from the plant once more. She'd have to reapply the spell for every single spore she wanted to retrieve, which would make the next half-hour very tedious.

"Glacius!"

Daphne's efforts on the other hand coated the plant in a thicker, much more solid layer of ice, allowing the other Slytherin girl to quickly pluck near a dozen seeds before the flames could return. A quick and near-silent reapplication of the Freezing Charm and Daphne started working again, for once ahead of everyone in Herbology - even Neville. The so-called Ice Princess of Slytherin had always favoured ice out of the various thematic elemental magics, which served her well in this particular Herbology lesson. Valeria on the other hand had always preferred fire, which wasn't going to matter here. Not unless she called forth a strong enough cursed fire to reduce the annoying not-bush into ashes, which she had to increasingly struggle to avoid.

In fact, the last time she remembered using the Freezing Spell was back in the third year Charms exam. She had learned the spell all the way back in her first year, and included it in her daily spell practice of course... except she hadn't had a general practice session in... Merlin and Morgana, had it been five months already? That couldn't be right. She'd decided all the way back in her first year that the only way to learn and master all the spells in both the Hogwarts curriculum and her extra studies would be to cast all the spells she knew in sequence, for at least an hour per day. In a very real way spells were like words, and learning magic was like mastering another language. Most people speak over ten thousand words per day, and learning a language would need even more effort... and not using a language would lead to forgetting it as well. What had happened to her daily practices?

"Hey Val, you OK?"

The question jolted Valeria out of her train of thought, but the alarm and trepidation remained. She mumbled a half-formed response to Daphne, something about being fine, then tried the Freezing Spell again. This time it didn't work at all, for her mind wasn't in it. Failing in a simple task Daphne had passed with flying colours was a shocking wake-up call. She'd always seen the other girl as a competent witch, better than her in Duelling even, but not as powerful... and certainly with a more limited knowledge of spells. But all the knowledge and talent in the world would amount to nothing if she didn't put in the required work... and she'd neglected her daily practices for half a year.

It wasn't as if she didn't have the time; time was one thing she had in abundance. But between the various plots against Harry, the Triwizard Tournament, the dark wizard infiltrations of Hogwarts, various detentions, potion-brewing, secret projects, research into new and exciting magics, and dealing with teenage drama, politics, and inter-House rivalries, she had simply... forgotten. Such a simple thing to say... but with dire consequences.

"Oh come on, it's just Herbology!" Daphne tried to cheer her up half an hour later. "It's not as if it's an important class, like Charms, Transfiguration, or Potions. Besides, this is Sprout we're talking about. She'll give you another chance to catch up like she does with everyone."

"It's magic, Daphne. All magic is important." _Then why have you been neglecting the basic spells?_ a little voice whispered in her mind.

"You're just annoyed that for the first time ever, you didn't do something perfectly," Daphne told her evenly. "Well news flash, princess; nobody's perfect. Not even the great Valeria Campbell."

"Very fully, Daph." She looked up at the taller, expensively-dressed, platinum blonde pureblood heiress. "I thought you were the princess."

"Yes, but it's you that's whining like a spoiled child." The other girl shrugged. "If you think something's wrong, fix it. But as your friend, I have to warn you when I feel you're being conceited."

Valeria did not agree with Daphne, except on the being conceited part. Her brother Claude had certainly made sure to point out her faults as they grew up, and pride had been mentioned more often than the others. But that didn't change the fact that she had forgotten to practice. She really needed to review her schedule, begin revisions to catch up with where she should have been by now.

And then she needed to see what else she had neglected or forgotten...


End file.
